


Living In A Godless Universe

by a_carnal_mink



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-03
Updated: 2011-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-24 07:12:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/260535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_carnal_mink/pseuds/a_carnal_mink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the immediate aftermath of 6x22, Castiel and Jimmy Novak are forced to take drastic steps to defeat the new "god" and purgatory souls. In a last-ditch effort to enlist the Winchesters' help, Jimmy makes the ultimate sacrifice, resulting in Claire and Amelia Novak's abrupt re-entry to the supernatural world. From the throne hall of the fairy realm to the gift shop at Niagara Falls, Dean's happy for the godlessness in their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living In A Godless Universe

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2011 [DeanCas Big Bang](http://deancasbigbang.livejournal.com/). **Beta:** the lovely Cassiopeia7 – it's been a pleasure, m'dear. Thank-you so much for helping me through this. Great thanks to Willoweese for undertaking a thorough preview-read. **Warnings:** a little horror (magic-induced pregnancy), temporary character death, a tiny bit of underage drinking, misappropriation of The Amulet's lore, Claire Novak is 16 here (she doesn't take part in any sex acts, but she's put in some mature situations). 
> 
> Website: [weltonbmarsland.com](https://weltonbmarsland.com/)

Given a choice between an angel of the Lord and a once-devout human, the clamoring hordes of Purgatory, apparently, were all about the latter of the two. They wanted to get their hands on manflesh – even if only in a metaphysical sense – and they wanted it badly.

So it was that Jimmy Novak spent the first few… hours? days? aboard the bad ship New God backed into a fleshy corner of his own psyche, being pawed and leered at like a cheerleader thrown into a high-security facility for lifers. And so too it was that Castiel, angel of the Lord and veteran warrior of Heaven, spent the corresponding time in unflinching battle stance in front of him, tirelessly fighting them all back.

As bodies fell, they were dragged away by other clawing hands, their places taken by the next slathering thing confident it could take on an angel. Jimmy lost all sense of time, mesmerized by the flash of Castiel's sword, by the inability of an angel – unfettered by a vessel's physical body – to slow down or tire, and the onslaught continued.

So this is what it had all come to. The vessel cowering inside his own flesh and the angel standing guard over him. Both of them staring down the barrel of Eternity like this.

And Jimmy was certain that Eternity was precisely what it would be. New God would endure, his reign dire and absolute. The multitudes would rage inside Him, all of them desperate to slake their thirsts upon Jimmy. And Castiel would never stop protecting him.

"There has to be some way," Jimmy said through his teeth, needing to communicate with his guardian but neither wanting to distract him. "Some way to get a message out. To Joshua, maybe? Or…" He hesitated a moment, mentally wrestling with himself over whether to say _the name_ out loud, fearful of what reaction it might have on Castiel. "Or, or Dean?" he finished weakly.

It had amazed them both, the moment when Balthazar – about as "dead" as the Holy Host had previously thought him to be – had made a split-second rescue of Singer and the Winchesters, right from under New God's nose. Even fighting back Purgatory denizens as he had been, Castiel had made a sobbing sound of shamed relief.

To his credit, Castiel didn't falter as he heard Jimmy say Dean's name. "I can't think how," he threw over his shoulder as he pulled his sword out of yet another yawning belly. "And Joshua has chosen to stand apart anyhow. We would need help from a different quarter entirely to win here. Ancient magic. Older than us all."

Jimmy silently watched the angel hacking and slashing for several moments, half his mind frantic with the hopelessness of their situation, the other half strangely calmed by the efficient, fluid movements of Castiel's mêlée skills. If only one of them could take flight from here, from the vessel within which the terrestrial and the celestial had fused together – Jimmy Novak's meat and blood and sinew, housing a human soul and an angel's grace, now overrun and made their prison. If only Jimmy could commend his spirit into another's hands.

While he felt a flint of guilt for wishing his spirit cared for by anyone other than Castiel, the feeling was overtaken by the germ of an idea. If Jimmy were to die, if his soul was to walk free of this vessel, he could find help. Could he not?

"Will they kill me quick or slow?" he found himself asking.

"Their uses for you would take them centuries," Castiel barked back at him.

Right. Jimmy swallowed. "Then you'll have to do it, Cas."

"I don't have time right now for – "

"No, listen to me. You don't need my soul to stay in here with you while that thing's in charge. And you know you've got my complete consent anyhow, so you won't be expelled. So… So, kill me and I can get out of here, I won't go with the Reapers and I'll find Dean. I'll bring help, Cas. We'll get you out."

Castiel sliced a beast across its face and chanced a quick glance over his shoulder at Jimmy. His eyes were wide and sad, filled with love and fierceness. He turned back to their attackers in time to take out two more before speaking again.

"You can't go to Dean. You know how the Winchesters deal with ghosts."

Jimmy laughed dryly, a sound so humorless even a nearby monster took an instinctive half-step backward at its sound. "Shoot first, burn bones later." Although, he reasoned to himself, good fucking luck to them trying to burn Jimmy's bones any time soon – seeing as how they were currently walking around demanding kneeling and devotion across the Earth.

When the solution presented itself in his mind, the hope it made flower in Jimmy's heart almost blindsided him. Amelia. Claire. His wife and daughter were out there somewhere, hiding from demons and angels alike, or so he dearly hoped.

"My family," he told Castiel. "I can go to Amelia, to Claire. They can ask the Winchesters for help." He could practically see the moment Castiel agreed to the plan; could see it in the set of the angel's straight shoulders, the stretch of one tendon in his elegant throat.

Another quick glance was thrown back at Jimmy. "I will fight on as long as I'm able."

"Damn right you will," Jimmy told him vehemently. "We're getting through this, Cas. You and me. Make it quick, okay?"

"Go with love, Jimmy Novak."

Castiel's sword flashed, the movement too quick for a human to register anything but a blur. Jimmy felt peace.

 

Dean was ignoring the voices at Bobby's front door, too busy trying to find room in his duffel for yet more books Sam didn't have room for in his own. He was vaguely aware of a woman's voice, and of Bobby explaining why the holy water drinking test. Whoever it was, then, Bobby was considering letting them in.

"Dean!" Bobby hollered, his voice getting a little louder as he walked back in toward the library. "Visitors!"

"We're practically on the road, Bobby!" Dean shouted back, mainly into his duffel bag, still bent over it as he was, fighting the zipper into place. The fact that Balthazar had whisked him and Sam and Bobby to safety didn't much diminish Dean's need to get back to Crowley's compound and rescue his poor, demon-crashed baby. He was itchin'. He _had_ to go get her. "You'll have to take this one!" he added in another shout. The zipper on his duffel stuck. "Fuckin' piece of shit – "

"Ladies present," Bobby scolded him half-heartedly from nearby. "And they're here to see you, ya idjit."

Dean swore a little more, under his breath, and slowly stood up straighter, craning his head over his shoulder to see the new arrivals. Two blondes stood on the other side of the room; the younger one, if Dean wasn't mistaken, brazenly checking out his ass. The older one, he suddenly realized he recognized. He crossed toward them, frowning a little as he tried to remember a name, but the only names coming to him were of two guys – one in particular – that he was trying his best not to think about these days.

"You're, um, Jimmy's wife. Right?"

"Amelia," the older one nodded. "You remember my daughter, Claire?"

Dean gave the teenager a small smile and a nod of recognition. "Changed a bit since I last saw you. What are you now? Fifteen or somethin'?"

"Sixteen," Claire replied, smiling back at him.

"As of just over a week ago," Amelia put in. No doubt as a giant hands-off-my-daughter warning.

"Yeah," Dean exhaled. "Time flies, huh?"

"Can I get you ladies a lemonade?" Bobby offered, a more amenable host than Dean had often seen him. "Or maybe somethin' stronger?"

Amelia looked at him gratefully. "Whiskey. Please. A large one." She glanced sideways at her daughter, appraising and motherly. "And a small one with a _lot_ of water."

Wow. These gals had changed since Dean last knew them. But then, living in the real world as they did now – the real, blood'n'guts world where the supernatural is fact and everything is out to get you – tended to do that to folk. Even straight-laced, God-fearing families like the Novaks. Once that first preternatural sonofabitch breaks through into your world, you may as well kiss everything you thought you knew goodbye. Drink up. Smoke 'em if ya got 'em. Keep ya powder dry.

While Bobby ushered the Novaks toward the kitchen table and got out his least-worst gutrot, Dean walked to the bottom of the stairs and yelled for Sam to get his ass down here. When he wandered back to the kitchen, Bobby scooted a whiskey for him along the cupboard-top he was leaning against. Dean caught it and pulled out a chair at the table, joining Amelia and Claire. Sam arrived amid a cut-off "I said I'm practically ready, Dean!" and silently took another whiskey from Bobby and sat himself down at the table, too. After another round of re-introductions, Amelia briefly fiddled with a gold ring on a chain around her neck before launching into the reason for their visit.

She didn't get far before Dean was pushing away from the table and stomping over to the nearest window, swiping angrily at a salt line and demanding Jimmy show himself.

He was… perfect. One of the most substantial and fixed apparitions Dean had ever witnessed. As solid and communicative as the ghost-kid, Cole, had been in Greybull, Wyoming – though _that_ had been due to Dean and Sam both being ghosts themselves at the time, on the kid's own turf, so to speak. The only spirit in their experience who'd come this close to seeming real among the living was Molly, that lost girl on a Nevada highway all those years ago. And that poor broad hadn't even realized that she _was_ a fricken ghost.

"We don't have much time, Dean," was practically the first thing out of Jimmy's mouth. "Cas is trapped inside there and we've gotta get him out before they tear him to shreds!"

Dean bristled at being ordered about, especially on behalf of the angel that had gone off with Crowley behind his back like Cas had. People choosing demons over him would never stop being a raw nerve with Dean. He gave Jimmy a level look and squared his shoulders. "You don't think he kinda brought this shit down on his own head?"

Less than the space of one heartbeat had Jimmy flickering away from one part of the kitchen and flickering right into Dean's personal space, right up in his face. Jimmy's eyes were almost as blue as Cas's, his glare a little harder, his anger more human and therefore more accessible.

"And you've never brought shit down on your own head, I suppose?" Jimmy spat at him. "Are you so fucking perfect, Winchester? You've never made a mistake or a bad call or wished you could have a do-over?"

"He was working with Crowley!" Dean growled back at him.

"Well, who the hell here _hasn't_?!" Jimmy demanded of him. "Just where the fuck do you get off trying to put this morally superior bullshit over on anybody?" His nostrils flared as he ranted, as though he were actually having to breathe quicker through his tirade. "Where do you think Castiel learned any of this behavior from in the first place, huh? Working with Crowley, making a deal with a demon, not telling his loved ones about it? You're seriously gonna stand there and make out like you're better than him over this?"

It was not unlike being slapped in the face about five times in a row, but Dean was determined not to show it. He returned Jimmy's stare quietly, swallowing and feeling the vein in his left temple throb a little.

"Look, man," Sam's voice rose up into the heated atmosphere, "we hear where you're coming fro – "

"You dare?" Jimmy hissed, and Dean saw the edges of his spirit form tremble for a fraction of a moment, as though it was all Jimmy could do right then to keep a hold of himself. Jimmy turned on his heel and advanced slowly toward where Sam was seated, his voice low, his fury barely contained as he started in on Sam. "You dare to even have an opinion on the subject? You, who I thought should have understood best of all? Let me remind you about the last days Lucifer was walking the Earth, Sam."

Sam opened his mouth as though to protest but Jimmy barreled on, his white-hot wrath giving him momentum. "Oh, I'm sure you think you don't need reminding, but I'm here to tell you that you obviously don't remember shit. You decided, in order to save the world from the Apocalypse, to allow a more powerful entity into your vessel because you were sure you could handle it in order to save the world. And everyone – including Cas – backed your play, despite their own misgivings. They all, Cas too, had your back. And you went through with your plan and you did save the world. Good for you, Sam. You're a hero. Flashforward to a little while ago and what happened? Cas decided, in order to save the world from the same Apocalypse, to allow a more powerful entity into his vessel because he was sure he could handle it in order to save the world. And NO ONE backed his play. NO ONE had his back."

Dean could see Sam's face losing more and more color as Jimmy went on, as Jimmy's words sank in with them all. Dean tried taking a sip of his whiskey but swallowing it was like swallowing ash and bile.

"But," Jimmy continued, "Cas went through with his plan and he did save the world, just like you did, from the same Apocalypse. And what did you do to him, Sam?"

Sam's gaze flicked toward the Novak women and across at Dean before returning to Jimmy. "I – "

"You stabbed him in the back," Jimmy answered for him, rage punctuating every syllable. "Literally." He loomed over Sam's seated form, his ghostly status giving him a gravitas he hadn't really possessed in life. "I felt it," he enunciated slowly. "I felt the blade enter us. Felt it slice through my liver."

Both Novak women sat up a little upon hearing that, their postures becoming rigid and their expressions more stony.

Jimmy shook his head at Sam. "You didn't try to save him, didn't try to help him. You didn't even give him the comfort your brother gave _you_ in Kansas, when he repeatedly told you how loved you are, that you would never be left alone." Jimmy stood up straighter. "You just went for the murdering blow, upon someone you had the gall to profess a friend. Would have murdered me, too, if things had gone a little different. I don't want to speak to you."

For a long, painful moment Jimmy and Sam were locked to each other by gaze, Sam's mouth mutely open and his eyes glistening with wetness.

"Okay," Dean said at no one in particular. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Okay, we get it. We were massive jerks. You can back down now, Casper."

Jimmy raised his head and glared in Dean's direction.

"I said, back down," Dean repeated as steadily as the sensation of his stomach heaving up into his throat would allow. He took a deep breath and looked up at Bobby, finding it more than a little unsettling that he'd allowed such a tirade to go on in his kitchen without saying squat about it. Bobby had emptied his glass and was necking straight outta the bottle, catching Dean looking and giving him a dejected look in return.

Dean felt cold and wiped a hand over his face, taking a moment to collect himself. "So," he found himself saying, seeing as no fucker else seemed to want to take on Jimmy's fury. "What's the situation right now? And more importantly, what do we do about it?"

Jimmy stared at him for a second or two, calculating, like he was deciding how far to trust Dean right then which, everything he'd just laid on them considered, Dean figured he couldn't really blame the guy for. Then almost all of his bluster seemed to leave him in one go and he practically deflated before their eyes. He was again just Jimmy Novak, a dude in a crappy suit and a sorry trenchcoat, looking like he could really, really do with a meal and a good night's sleep.

"The strongest one," Jimmy started, his voice more even than before, his anger having burnt hot and now just simmering, "the one who proclaimed itself the New God, that's the one in charge right now. Cas and I were pushed way, way down. This God creature, He wants devotion, _absolute_ devotion. Partly because of His own proclivities but also partly, I think, because of the strongest emotion he picked up from us when He first entered."

Jimmy paused and looked around sadly at them all. "Love," he said softly, when it was obvious no one was going to take a guess. "He was, um, overwhelmed by the currents of love He felt coursing through us both. Particularly…" he glanced briefly toward Dean and hastily looked away again, "…particularly Cas's yearning to feel loved, I think." His gaze drifted toward his wife and daughter, drawn to them, and he smiled softly before re-gathering himself and continuing. "The others, the… multitudes… well, there's millions of them. And let's just say they didn't seem to pick up on anything emotional when they got inside. They just, they just wanted a human to play with. That's how Cas and I've spent the time since the takeover – me in a corner with Cas protecting me, waging this… one-angel, constant battle against millions of foe. And now that I'm not there, he's fighting for his own life." His voice squeaked at the end of the sentence.

Dean felt his thorax tighten. He cleared his throat, drained his whiskey glass, and put out his free hand to brace against a kitchen bench. "What do we do?" he asked again.

Jimmy's gaze locked onto his and Dean felt his whole chest constrict with the force of it, the strength of Jimmy's relief and gratitude. When he spoke again, his voice was steady. "Ancient magic, Cas said. That's all he had time to tell me – 'someone older than us all'… I don't even know if he had anyone specific in mind." Jimmy bowed his head. "That's all I know to tell you."

The only noise in the room right then was the clink of glass on glass as Bobby poured more whiskey into Dean's tumbler. "I can think of one guy that old," Bobby remarked nonchalantly, moving away to the table to refill everyone else's glasses. No water went into Claire's drink this time.

Dean figured it was gonna be a bit longer than he thought before he could go rescue his baby. "I can think of two," he offered, sighing a little.

Bobby's gaze snapped up to his. "Well, I was thinkin' of Death," Bobby said. "What other guy is there?"

Dean took a hefty swallow of whiskey and licked his top lip thoughtfully. "I don't know how much more flirtin' Death's actually gonna take kindly to from me," he murmured, trying for a self-deprecating grin to accompany it but probably failing miserably. "But there's someone else I haven't thought about for a little while. Someone I met by accident when Sam and me were on that bogus UFO case in Indiana last Fall."

Embarrassed, but trying to get beyond it 'cos he had to, Dean threw a short look Sam's way before looking back to Bobby. "Oberon," he grit out.

"Oberon," Bobby repeated incredulously. "As in… the King of the Fairies?"

"Yeah. Apparently."

Bobby's eyebrows disappeared under his trucker cap. "And you met him _how_?!"

Dean shuffled a little. "There was a circle and a light and a – y'know what? Doesn't matter how I met him, okay? I did. And, ah, well, apart from Death, I'd say he's the oldest dude I've ever met. Cas needs some ancient magic? Sorry, but that's where my mind goes."

"Your mind goes to fairies?"

Everybody, ghost included, looked to Claire Novak as she spoke up.

"Trust me, little lady," Dean felt a genuine smile tugging at his mouth as he looked at her. "They're way more hardcore than the name implies."

 

Less than half an hour's drive from Bobby Singer's salvage yard, just before the town of Brandon, was a large state forest fanning out from a huge bend in the Big Sioux River. It was simple enough to get through to the fairy realm, so Mr Singer said – although it occurred to Claire that he looked a little like he was trying to convince himself about that as he said it. You just had to find a mound in a forest. And kids' folklore – you always trust the kid lore when it comes to fairies, apparently – identified a "fairy mound" in just about every patch of forest and woodland in the whole entire world.

And so. State forest of Big Sioux River. From South Dakota to the fairy realm in three quick circles.

"You're kidding me?" Dean narrowed his eyes at Bobby. "That's all it takes? I just walk around this lump of dirt three times and I'm whisked away to another dimension? Little dudes ain't big on security, I take it."

"Well, it's three times widdershins," Bobby huffed at him. "If that makes a difference to ya."

"Vidderwhat?"

"Anti-clockwise, Dean," Sam provided. There was quite a breeze blowing and he was having trouble keeping his hair out of his eyes. Claire was glad for keeping hers sensibly tied back.

Dean eyed the hillock in front of them. "Anyone comin' with me?"

"Has to be first-borns, Big Bro," Sam smirked at his brother and sat down on a fallen log.

"Shit," Dean murmured. He glanced up sideways at Bobby.

"Don't look at me." Bobby side-eyed him back. "My folks had one die an infant before I came."

"I'm the eldest," Claire's Dad offered. "But fat lot of good I am in my current state." It was the first time he'd looked genuinely pissed about being a ghost. "Sorry, Dean."

Claire's Mom crossed her arms against the chill wind. "Two sisters and a brother before me," she said softly.

"Well, then." Dean cracked his knuckles and took a step forward. "Just me and the grassy knoll."

"And me," Claire spoke up.

"No, Claire!" her Mom said automatically.

"Yes, Mom," Claire responded, making sure to keep her tone firm but un-whiny. "This is important. I want to go."

Everybody, it seemed, went from looking at her to looking at Dean, as though leaving the decision up to him. Dean just gave Claire an appraising look then walked away a few yards, motioning for her to follow. When she walked after him, he put an arm around her shoulders, spinning her a little so as to make sure no one else could see their faces when he whispered to her.

"Claire, this is serious shit. D'you know what you're doing?"

"Of course I do!" she whispered back. "I want to help."

Dean looked down at her fondly, as though he completely understood. "The fairies are bastards. I know, I've been in there before, and this… they _ask_ you to do things. Grown up things, if they consider you as bein' a grown-up. And, not to put too fine a point on it, I honestly don't think they're gonna see you as a little girl. D'you understand me?"

To Claire, it looked for all the world as though he was trying to tell her something with his eyes, as though he didn't want to say whatever it was out loud in actual words.

"What _grown up things_ , exactly?"

Dean licked his top lip briefly, glanced across the top of Claire's head to make sure everyone else was still where they'd left them. When his gaze dropped back down to hers, he leaned his face in even closer, making absolutely certain no one else would hear or see him when he told her.

"It's oral sex," he whispered quickly. "A blowjob, okay? A fast one, thank god, but a BJ all the same. Big guy likes his service, I guess. So…" His voice trailed off and he just looked at her.

Amazingly, he wasn't telling her a flat-out "no". He was leaving the decision up to her. Claire really respected that.

"I've… I've done that," she confessed to him. "I haven't done much else, but I have done… that."

The arm around her shoulders tightened momentarily, a comforting squeeze, and Dean smiled a tiny, vaguely sad smile at her. He squeezed her shoulder again, firm, and stepped away abruptly, striding back toward the fairy mound. "Alrighty then!" He clapped his hands together. "Anti-clockwise, you say? Do we start anywhere in particular?"

As he spoke, he held his left hand out toward Claire and she stepped toward him quickly and grabbed hold of it. His hand was twice the size of hers and the skin on the top of his thumb was rough, but his grip was reassuring and his long fingers felt pleasantly cool entwined between hers.

Bobby shouted out to just start walking. Claire's Mom shouted a "Please don't!". And Dean and Claire stepped out together and were on their way.

It seemed so very ridiculous at first, walking around a grassy mound of dirt in a windy forest. It was barely more than a hundred steps to make a complete circle. As they made their first pass back around to where they started, Dean waved his right hand at everyone blithely. As soon as they'd walked to the far side once more, he dropped his arm again and his expression fell. Their second pass, Claire noticed that her mother was crying onto Mr Singer's shoulder, her father's ghost standing helplessly to the side. As they neared their third pass, Dean squeezed her hand tighter and gave her a little smile.

"Ready for this?" he asked her quietly.

"Not really."

"Well, at least you're honest."

The whole world shimmered as they completed their third circle, the mound turning into a stone archway beyond which lay a remarkable amalgam of forest and palace. No sooner had they stepped through than the archway closed up behind them. Claire looked about her in utter wonder. This place was neither inside nor outside, daytime nor night. Could it be everything at once? There were still trees and soil, but there were stones as well – standing stones and altar stones and walls made from stone. There was a magnificent chair, a throne, Claire supposed, carved from a single block of wood and upon it sat…

A very large, naked man. With horns.

"Oh yeah," Dean said in a vague tone. "Forgot to tell you about that." He looked down at her and gave her a cheeky wink. "Gotta see a naked man sometime, I guess?" As he said it, he gave her hand another squeeze, reassuring her silently while his bravado made light of the situation.

"Dean." The man's voice was deep and clear. Slowly, he rose up from his throne and motioned for them to step forward. He was incredibly tall, maybe the tallest man Claire had ever met, his body broad and firm, limbs powerful, chest and stomach and legs hairy. His penis was fully erect, dark red with all the blood that engorged it, and Claire felt her face heating, trying not to stare.

"Dean," he said again, "first-born Winchester Child."

Dean lifted his chin and grinned. "Oberon, I'm told? Didn't exactly get your name last time I was here. That's right, isn't it – King Oberon?"

The man inclined his head to one side in acceptance of the title, one horn brushing his shoulder as he did so. "I have many names. Oberon. Cernunnos. Freyr, Ammon, Pan, Herne, The Green Man… they go on." He straightened his head again and let his gaze fall upon Claire. His eyes were green as young moss and he had a distinct air of mischievousness. Claire fought to hold his gaze.

Dean cleared his throat softly. "This is Claire," he offered. "Um. First-born Novak Child."

"Virgin," Oberon proclaimed, nodding slightly. "Thank-you, Dean."

Dean's hand automatically gripped Claire's tighter. "We've ah." Dean blinked. "We've come to seek your assistance… Oh, King."

If facepalming could have been appropriate in the situation, Claire might have been tempted.

"Assistance?" Oberon repeated, almost like he'd never heard the word before.

"And, and pay tribute!" Dean hurried to add. "Of course! Always with the tribute giving…"

Oberon smiled beatifically. "Tribute!" He'd obviously not only heard that word before, but really really liked hearing it. He took one step closer to Dean and stood before him, feet planted solidly on the forest floor.

Claire could actually hear Dean swallow. Giving her hand one last squeeze, he released it and lowered himself to his knees. Claire's mouth fell open a little way as she looked on, stunned by what she was seeing even though Dean had told her it expect it. Should she look away? She should probably look away. But could she?

Oberon confidently offered his large penis and Dean… paid tribute to it. Claire didn't think Dean was taking any pleasure in the act – his cheeks were burning with humiliation and he wouldn't so much as glance in her direction while he worked – but he was professional about it, getting the job done, getting it over with quickly.

And "quickly" it was over with, too. Dean had certainly been right about it not taking long. Oberon had pushed his erection into Dean's open mouth maybe only seven or eight times before he was sighing and snapping his fingers. A creature that reminded Claire of something out of a Tolkien story appeared out of thin air at Oberon's bidding, a shallow stone bowl held in its bony hands. Oberon pulled his penis away from Dean and aimed it into the bowl, ejaculating with a satisfied grunt.

Well. That'd all seemed terribly efficient. Dean wiped at his mouth with the back of his right hand as he climbed back to his feet, immediately seeking out Claire's hand again with his left, though he still didn't look at her. Claire mentally readied herself, certain her turn for such tribute must surely be next. Curiously, despite his orgasm, the King's erection never appeared to flag.

Turning his gaze to Claire, Oberon smiled again. "Tribute," he cooed.

Willing her limbs not to shake, Claire gently lowered herself down to a kneeling position. Dean wasn't letting go of her hand, but Oberon didn't seem to care. He moved closer to her, offering his erection the same as he had to Dean. But when Claire took a deep breath and opened her mouth, the King withdrew, apparently appeased by her readiness to pay. As he walked back toward his throne, he nodded at Dean and let him tug Claire back up onto her feet.

"This… assistance you seek," Oberon said slowly, lowering himself back onto his throne and giving them both an appraising look. "What nature is it?"

"Our friend," Dean began, then paused to cough lightly. "A good friend of ours. He's been possessed by this, ah, evil god _thing_ from Purgatory. As well as a coupla million other sonsofbitches from down there, too. We wanna get these things out of him. Get our friend back. The message he got through to us was that he needs ancient magic. I thought of you."

Oberon's eyes narrowed as he regarded them. "What manner of friend, that he can house so many beasts?"

"He's, he's an angel."

A bark of laughter shook Oberon's chest and he clapped his giant hands together once in delight. "Wonderful!" He laughed again and looked from one to the other of them. "The satyr and the virgin are friends with angels. Precious."

Claire chanced a glance up at Dean and saw that his cheeks were still flushed. She stroked her fingertips between the peaks of his knuckles and was rewarded with a quick look her way, a soft smile at one corner of his mouth, before he gave his attention back to Oberon.

"If you don't mind me asking," Dean began, "where exactly do you guys fit in? Y'know, with Heaven and Earth and everything else?"

Oberon sobered. "We are Nature. We are the caretakers of the world. You humans live out your lives on the surface of the planet and when you expire, you ascend or descend accordingly, never once having realized that the Earth you lived upon was ours all along. We don't like… anything wrong in Nature." He paused a moment, considering them. "Nothing from Purgatory is welcome in the Nature of this Earth." He paused again, letting them hang on his words. "So if what you say is true, then yes, I will lend you assistance."

Claire and Dean both exhaled at the same time, imperceptible sighs of relief.

"You will need a Champion," Oberon informed them.

"A champion?" Dean repeated. "Okay, that sounds good. Where do we get one?"

"I can make one for you."

Dean's eyebrows quirked. "Oh. Cool. Dare I ask… what from?"

"You brought a majority of ingredients with you." And the King's gaze slid solidly onto Claire.

Dean seemed to put two and two together quicker than Claire could under the weight of that gaze. "Hey, hey, what's that supposed to mean?" He held Claire's hand a little closer toward his own body, seemingly on instinct. "What do you need her for?"

"Virgin blood has myriad uses."

"No way, man." Dean was shaking his head already. "You can't have her blood."

"How much do you need?" Claire heard herself asking.

"Claire!" Dean chastised her but she Shh'd him so that Oberon could respond.

Again, one horn brushed a shoulder as Oberon tilted his head thoughtfully. "Would thirteen droplets be agreeable, Novak Child?"

Just that? Claire blinked, hoping she'd heard the number right. "F-from where?" she stammered.

Oberon waved one hand, dismissive. "Arm, hand, leg, throat – what does it matter? I fear you're not bleeding from the body this day, so we can't use the most potent."

Claire fought away a blush at the reference to periods – gah, she hadn't blushed at anything else so far, but she blushes at _that_?! – and made up her mind. Thirteen droplets from her arm? Yeah, she could do that. "Okay," she said firmly. "I'll give you thirteen droplets."

Oberon snapped his fingers and the bowl-bearing creature appeared again, this time holding a wooden bowl and a curved knife. It handed the blade to Claire and held the bowl at the ready.

"Be sure to think on your friend," Oberon instructed.

Claire looked from the knife, up to Dean, and back again.

"No point waitin' around," Dean reasoned and let go her hand. He was right.

Claire thought hard of Castiel and pressed the tip of the blade to the fleshy part of her left arm, just enough pressure to break the skin, and mentally counted off the drips of crimson as they dropped down into the waiting bowl. When it was done, she handed back the knife and pressed her hand over the small wound until the flow ceased. Well, that was relatively painless.

Dean was eying the bowl and the creature holding it, maybe expecting the knife to be handed to him next for a repeat performance. But the bowl-bearer moved to the side instead and waited. Dean looked up at Oberon. "I'm assuming you're wanting somethin' from me… ?"

"Warrior seed," Oberon agreed.

Dean looked confused. "Uh. Sorry, man, I didn't know I had to bring any warrior seed with me."

Oberon gave him a withering look, just as two young women wearing nothing but garlands of ivy appeared behind Dean and started to take his jacket from his shoulders. Dean jumped a little at the sudden hands on him but recovered his composure enough to not make too big a protest. His jacket gone, they took his overshirt next and swiftly after that, his t-shirt as well.

When their small, pale hands reached around to his belt buckle, Dean finally found his voice. "Hey now. Whoa just a minute. I told you I haven't got any of this shit on me. No horticulture products at all, I swear!"

Belt and flies undone, the women pushed Dean's jeans and boxers down to his ankles and stepped away. Claire felt her breath hitch somewhere in the back of her throat. Oh, she was trying not to look. Trying not to look…

Oberon let his gaze wander appreciatively down Dean's torso until he was staring hungrily at Dean's groin. "You are a warrior, are you not, Winchester Child?" He lifted his gaze to Dean's face once more and repeated, very pointedly this time, "Warrior. Seed."

Claire could practically hear the penny in Dean's head dropping into place.

"Oh," Dean said rather eloquently. He moved his right hand around himself, Claire could see from the corner of her eye.

"Be sure to think on your friend," Oberon reminded.

Dean hissed out a breath. "Yeah, that might make things a little uncomfortable. Y'see, I know him best as his vessel? And ah, he looks like her Dad, okay?"

Oberon merely settled more comfortably into his throne and regarded Dean with a smile. "Be sure to think on your friend."

There was a long moment where Claire very firmly kept her gaze locked on Oberon and Dean didn't make any movement at all. Then, tentatively, slowly, there was motion at the periphery of her vision. What else could Dean do, after all? They needed Oberon to make this champion for them.

It took a lot longer than Claire's thirteen drops of blood. Understandably. She wondered what Dean must be thinking of – thinking of Castiel, yes of course, but he had to _masturbate_ to whatever those thoughts were, too. How would he force himself to perform to that? And under such scrutiny as well? Trying circumstances, Claire considered.

"It seems you need to think harder," Oberon remarked casually.

Claire was aware of Dean shifting at her side. He was swapping hands. Strange, she thought he was right-hand dominant. But then, maybe his wrist was tiring. Almost immediately, though, Dean made a noise, the sound making Claire realize that he had remained stoically silent through his ministrations so far. Now, it sounded as though he couldn't keep the noises bottled up inside any longer. His breathing was quicker and harsher, a choked-off gasp rasping out of him every few strokes. Claire felt her own breathing quicken in sympathy, felt her heart rate picking up at the sound of him.

When a soft moan escaped and Dean whimpered at it as though the sound had shamed him but he couldn't help it, Claire's gaze couldn't stay on Oberon a moment longer. Slowly, slowly, Claire turned first her eyes and then her head toward Dean and saw…

…saw many things.

Dean Winchester was beautiful. There was no other word to describe him. His sensual body and his pale-gold skin, his fine face and his strong arms, his dark lashes, his tattoo, his hard nipples, his stiff cock being worked in the hand he'd been holding onto Claire with earlier. It was all too easy to feel affected by him, by the pleasure he was enacting on himself. All too easy for Claire to let her body throb in time to his strokes.

Then Claire realized why it was that Dean had swapped hands, how it was that his noises had began tumbling from him without his control. Dean had switched to his left hand so that his right could reach up to his left shoulder, where it flexed on the curve now, even as Claire watched, enthralled. As Dean worked his body harder and faster, his hand would slide a little on his shoulder and Claire would spy a glimpse of something beneath it on his flesh. Then Dean would slide it back where it belonged and his mouth would pout into a perfect O and his cock would leak a little.

Whatever it was he was doing to his shoulder, this didn't seem like the first time he'd ever done it. He knew what he was doing; had known, when things were taking too long to get going, that he had to do _that_ in order to get this show on the road. Claire was fascinated beyond herself.

Dean's eyes suddenly flew open and he grunted something that the bowl-bearer clearly took as an instruction. The creature did its duty and Dean emptied himself over the top of Claire's blood. Claire had never seen any other image that could rival it – Dean Winchester jerking himself off right next to her like that. Provided they made it through all this alive, Claire was certain this moment would be the star player in her personal fantasy material for at least the next five decades.

 

  
Re-dressed and halfway re-composed, Dean ran a hand through his hair and then down over his face. He needed to man up and check that Claire was okay, but he found he was having a hard time making himself meet her gaze right away. He knew she'd ended up watching him, despite her best efforts to be discreet earlier. She was a teenager – what're they gonna do when stuff like that's happening around them? Nothing to be done about it, he figured. The situation was what it was.

The ugly thing who'd held the dish for him was now handing it off to Oberon, who proceeded to plunge one long finger right in there and give it all a good mixin' around. Like some jerk celebrity chef on the cooking channel, King Fairy then stuck his finger into his mouth and took a taste test. Awesome.

Oberon's eyes widened as he savored his glob of blood and jizz. "Most interesting," he purred at them after slurping the finger clean. And then, to his servants or whatever they were, "Bring me a pool!". Great, now the guy wanted to go skinny dipping.

Cradling the dish in his lap with both hands – and really, it was a wonder he didn't spill the damn thing with that constant hard-on of his bobbing all over the place – Oberon gave Dean and Claire another appraising look, like he was looking at them afresh after gaining new intel. In a way, Dean supposed he had.

"Vessels," Oberon announced, practically gleeful. "Both of you. Angelic vessels."

Dean flicked a glance at Claire, only to find her already looking at him in a mirror of his own surprise.

"Uh." Dean rubbed the side of his neck. "Yeah, actually. How'd you know that? You can _taste_ it on us?"

Oberon made a gesture that said it was no big deal. Then he leveled Dean with a piercing look. "But you're not _his_ vessel," he elaborated. "Your friend. The one who claimed you."

"Claimed me?"

Oberon stood swiftly and strode up to Dean, the dish of gloop held lightly in one massive hand. He hooked a finger of the free hand – the finger he'd just sucked said gloop from, in fact – into Dean's collars and pulled the various fabrics hard enough to easily uncover part of the raised handprint on Dean's shoulder.

Claire craned her head for a better look at it and gasped. Clearly, she'd only just worked out what it was.

"Love," Oberon said quietly and swept the side of his finger across the nearest bit of raised scar tissue he could reach. Dean sucked in a harsh breath and Oberon took his hand away again, letting Dean's clothes fall back into place.

When he returned to his throne, Oberon continued with piecing their details together. "No, you're not _his_ vessel, because…" His gaze traveled to Claire and he smiled sharply. "Because he looks like her father. _You_ ," he said to Claire, "can be his vessel, because your father is already."

Claire was looking pretty dumbfounded at that. Dean had to admit, it was a pretty neat trick to be able to gain that much info from a bloody come-lick.

"Has he been within you?" Oberon then asked and Claire's head nodded.

"Just once," she murmured.

Two nymphs, maybe even the same ones that had undressed Dean earlier, approached the throne carrying a large shallow salver between them. Looked like it was made of hammered tin. Inside it sloshed what Dean took a guess as woodland stream water. So, that was the "pool" Fairy-boy had ordered.

Said Fairy-boy continued to look upon Claire and Dean as he held his gloop dish over the tin pool and up-ended it into the water. "Many different strings connecting you," he told them. "This is a good thing. Your Champion will be fierce." Then he gave his attention to the pool and stirred all its ingredients together well, using the dish like a ladle. That done, he passed the dish to his other hand and proceeded to thoroughly and lavishly lick his own right palm.

Just as Dean was bracing himself for having to witness the big guy tug his junk in front of them, Oberon held his licked hand as flat as could be and lowered it carefully to the surface of the pool. The mixture within glowed bright green, the same forest green as Oberon's eyes and then faded again. Nodding to himself, Oberon dipped the empty dish back into the pool and scooped up a portion of what Dean now supposed must be a fresh batch of champion-making-juice.

Carefully, in deference to the mixture, Oberon again stepped down from his throne and approached where Dean and Claire stood. Smiling a little creepily, he held the dish out for Claire. "Virgin," he invited. "For you."

"Oh," Claire murmured and held her hands out, letting Oberon pass the dish to her. She peered into the contents before cutting a look up at Dean. "I have to drink this, huh?"

"Looks like." Dean caught a glimpse of the mixture and winced a bit. "Sorry, sweetheart. I haven't been drinking much pineapple juice lately." Claire just looked at him like she had no idea what he was talking about. Kids.

Claire pulled an adorable face at the concoction and lifted it to her mouth. "Bottoms up, I guess," she muttered and drank the whole thing down in one go. Damn it, but Dean was really starting to admire Jimmy's kid.

Admiration quickly gave way to concern and not a small amount of panic, when Claire's grip on the empty dish went so slack, she dropped it to the forest-floor-that-wasn't-really and pitched forward, clutching at her mid-section. A cry that was half surprise and half pain struggled its way out of her and Dean's arms went around her on autopilot, needing to comfort, wanting to take the pain away. Claire fell into his arms and Dean glared at the bastard Fairy Sonofabitch who had done this to her.

"What the fuck did you do to her?" he demanded. "Tell me, NOW, or so help me – !"

"Calm yourself," Oberon replied dispassionately. "Surely you can work it out? Man of the world, as you are?" And he flicked his gaze downward purposefully, retreating away from them as he did so, taking to his throne again and watching them like the playthings Dean was sure they most certainly were to him.

Claire's weight became heavier in his hold and he realized her knees had buckled beneath her. He shot a panicked look down where Oberon had looked and felt his eyes almost bug out of his head.

The entirety of Claire's abdomen was distended. No, scratch that – distend _ing_. The whole thing swelling obscenely before Dean's eyes. The denim jeans she wore had already popped their button and her belly, as it grew, forced the metal zipper down as well.

"Dean!" Claire clutched at him, scrabbling at his arms, trying to keep herself upright but losing the battle.

"You've poisoned her, you fuck!" Dean angrily threw in Oberon's direction, reasoning there must have been something in the water when the pool was brought in.

Oberon merely clicked his fingers for his nymphs – dryads, the nerd-corner of Dean's brain that held onto woodland lore corrected for him – and the two ivy-draped women from before were suddenly easing Claire out of Dean's arms. He didn't want to let go of her, not when she was hurting so badly as she obviously was, but there was something about the no nonsense attitude of the dryads, something so wise and… _womanly_ , if he was being some sort of massive chick about it. And it didn't escape his notice that their touch seemed to calm Claire in some way that his own wasn't currently able to. That, and they seemed to instinctively know how to make her more comfortable, even as she started to scream in greater pain. Whatever his Saving People Thing was trying to tell him, Dean decided to let the dryads do their job.

He didn't retreat far, of course. Hell, he couldn't do that. By the time the dryads had Claire lying down on her back, Dean had dropped to his knees and was cradling her shoulders and head across his lap, stroking her sweating forehead and trying to tell her everything was alright. Lower down, beyond the incredible stretch of Claire's abdomen, the dryads were calmly removing her boots and easing her blue jeans down and off her legs. When underwear followed soon after, Dean felt gorge rise in his throat as he suddenly, sickeningly, realized just what the fuck was happening.

Claire was giving birth.

"Dean." Claire rolled her eyes up to try and look into his face. "There's something… something in me. I think. There's something moving."

Dean lifted Claire's shoulders and straightened his legs out beneath her upper body at a right-angle, lowering her back over his lap in such a way that he could hold her better. "It's okay," he told her desperately. "We're getting it out. I promise you.' "

The dryads spread and bent Claire's legs and one of them took a big long look and nodded to the other one. Oh shit, this was happening.

"Claire. Hey, sweetie, c'mon. I want you to focus on my face, okay?"

Claire ground the back of her head into Dean's stomach as a contraction wracked her body and she cried out. Dean held her through it, desperately wishing he could make this stop for her here and now.

"Claire," he tried again. "Look at me. LOOK AT ME. We're gonna breathe, okay?"

Eyes finally focusing on him, Claire panted up at him. "Get it out of me!"

"We are, sweetie, I promise you. We are. I just need you to focus right now, alright? I want you to breathe with me. C'mon, Claire, you're strong, I know you can do this. Deep breath now – that's it, that's it, now huff it out for me. Thatta girl. And again."

Given how quickly Oberon's concoction had impregnated and gestated, the actual birth seemed to take the longest ten or so minutes of Dean's life. The previous time he'd assisted in one of these, the lady in question had named her son "John" even though it was Dean who let her slap him repeatedly and bite into his forearm for the entire forty-seven minutes it'd taken for him and his Dad to bring her boy safely into the world. At least it meant he knew enough not to freak out _too_ badly. Though considering the circumstances, he figured, freaking out wouldn't have been completely inappropriate.

"One more push, darlin', I promise." He wiped his hand through the sweat on Claire's forehead. "Just gimme one more, one more I promi – "

A slick, slithering sound accompanied Claire's final, most guttural scream. The dryads busied themselves with a large slug of expanding flesh, slicing through the umbilicus with what looked to be the same curved knife that orc creature had handed Claire earlier for harvesting her blood. Dean hauled Claire up into his arms and cradled her, holding her to his chest and rocking her gently while she calmed herself. When Dean felt it was safe to move her a little, he dragged the both of them across the floor a short ways, away from the puddle of blood and afterbirth that had formed at their previous location.

A cursory glance was all that was needed to see that Claire's body was already righting itself. Bleeding ceasing, abdomen already shrinking and forming to its previous flatness. Before long, no one would be able to tell that this horrific half hour had ever even visited itself upon young Claire Novak's virginal frame.

Well, Dean's brain reasoned with him, maybe she might not be as hymenated as other virgins her age. But that would be a subject completely between Claire and her future gynecologist. Dean was already making unspoken promises to the girl that he'd never breathe a word of this to anyone.

"Tell me I'm okay?" Claire asked into Dean's jacket. Dean thought he heard sniffling and figured she was probably crying. And who could fucking blame her.

"You're fine, sweetheart. Completely fine. I told ya we'd get that thing out, huh?"

Claire snuffled in closer to Dean's collarbone. He could feel her trembling. "Is it a monster?" she asked softly, clearly terrified of his answer.

Dean looked across to where the dryads were already helping the whatever-the-hell-it-was to its feet and it took its first, way too steady, step. He tried to chuckle as lightly as he could manage, but suspected it came out slightly hysterical anyhow. "I always thought my kids'd be a bit better looking," he joked humorlessly.

He put a hand to the back of Claire's head while he looked around for her lower garments. Luckily, they weren't too far away and he was able to reach his other arm out and snag them closer. "You wanna get dressed?" he whispered to her and she nodded vehemently into his chest.

"You know we don't have to tell anyone about this," he told Claire quietly while helping her back into her clothes. "We'll just tell 'em that Elvis gave us a champion. Don't have to tell no one how it happened." He stroked a stray lock of light blonde hair back behind her ear and gave her a tight smile. "You have my word, Claire."

Claire's "Thanks" was so small, he almost missed it.

By the time they had Claire presentable to polite company again – not that there was any of _that_ around – and they were both climbing to their feet and glaring the ever-loving crap outta one King Of The Fucked Up Fairies, the thing that had slithered out of Claire was about three foot tall.

"Prepare her to walk at large," Oberon commanded his dryads and clothes and weaponry were suddenly appearing out of nowhere that Dean could see.

And – oh. The champion was the "her" Oberon was talking about. Three foot of gritty determination was currently being wrapped in dark linen and hefting a short sword in one hand as though testing its weight and balance. Both dryads placed necklaces over her head, but the loose collar of her clothing swallowed what was on them immediately from view. When she was deemed ready, the champion walked toward Dean and Claire. She stood and appraised them for a moment, wide dark eyes alert and knowing. Then she took up the place on the other side of Claire from Dean and turned to face her King.

Dean rubbed his right temple for a second or two. "Okay, I gotta ask," he said to Oberon. "What exactly is Daddy's Little Girl there supposed to do?"

"Fight," came the impassive reply.

Of course. "Yeah, I get that much," he countered. "But how is she gonna fight what's inside my friend? And without hurting him in the process, may I add?"

Oberon actually rolled his eyes. "You have a Champion. You have a spare vessel." He flicked a look at Claire as he said that. "Is it not obvious?"

Dean opened his mouth to point out that no, actually, it wasn't fucking obvious, but Oberon merely waved them off.

"Good fighting, first-borns," he told them. And that, apparently, was as much time as he was gonna give them.

 

Castiel had long lost all sense of time and its passing. He'd fought some lengthy battles in his time, but this one was relentless. Not only was there no end in sight – there was not even a thought of an end. His entire existence, now, was this. With even Jimmy gone there wasn't a single friendly voice to hear, no ally to fight for, no humanity to seek out or to be found with any of his senses. Castiel's life now was this fight, and he was living it boldly.

The thought of help barely troubled him. He didn't expect any. This was it now, until the end came.

Which is why, when help _did_ come, the surprise of its momentary distraction very nearly got Castiel killed.

Strangely, in that one outlandish moment, Castiel found himself thinking on Hell, on the memory of rounding a burning corner and seeing a torture rack made of bone. The tattered soul upon it screaming at him for help, for salvation, and he had stepped forward instinctively only to be brought up short by the flicker of humanity he saw burn brightly within the core of… the torturer. He would never, could never, forget that – that first instant in which his gaze landed upon Dean Winchester.

He pushed the memory away before it could distract him any further from his fight. Castiel didn't know the short female that was battling her way toward him, Purgatory beasts falling away from her blade to her left and her right in a cutting swath as she advanced. She wasn't one of Them, that much he realized. But to draw any filament of analogy between her in this situation and Castiel dragging Dean out of Hell just wouldn't do. That would only raise hope and he couldn't afford that right then.

"Angel," she greeted when she reached him. She spoke the language of the Fey.

"What are you?" he managed, sword-tip piercing a monster throat.

"Sent by your Dean," she replied and Castiel again told himself he could not afford to hope.

Still cutting and thrusting expertly with one hand, she lifted one of the necklaces from around her throat and pulled it up over her head. "Put on this," she ordered, "and take my hand."

Blindly, for he couldn't take his eyes off his opponents, Castiel took the proffered loop of leather and wrestled it over his head while still fighting. One last beast felling, a little awkward groping in the air, and Castiel found her waiting hand.

Everything went white.

"Holy shit!" Dean's voice. "Cas? Cas, are you in there?"

Castiel opened his eyes slowly to greenness and concern. Dean. Dean was leaning over him.

"I – " Castiel started to say, but stopped when he heard his voice sounding strange. Blinking, he raised his hands and looked at them. They were much smaller than he'd remembered seeing them of late. "What's wrong with me?" he asked Dean, his voice sounding higher and lighter than usual.

Dean's mouth straightened in a tight line before he answered. "Well. Nothing, hopefully. You, ah, you're in Claire again."

Castiel let the information sink into his understanding. "Claire Novak?"

"Yeah." Dean licked his bottom lip briefly, still looking concerned. "Jimmy's daughter."

Jimmy. Castiel felt his grace clench within himself somewhere upon hearing the name. He had… he'd had to kill Jimmy.

"Cas," another voice said, and Castiel managed to tear his gaze away from Dean's face long enough to tilt his head to the other side. Jimmy was standing close by. "It's okay," Jimmy smiled at him. "It's all going to plan so far."

"You're still dead," Castiel pointed out.

"True," Jimmy conceded. "But I'm kinda hoping you'll be able to put me back properly when all this is done."

Castiel managed to sit up and found himself leaning against something warm and solid. A cursory glance showed him it was Dean's automobile, her sturdy metal body warmed by the strong sunlight that flooded over them all. The fact that she was upside down occurred to him only belatedly.

He looked to Dean again. Dean hadn't taken his eyes off Castiel once, it seemed, crouching intently beside him. Castiel let himself rest more heavily against the black metal. "Where… are we?"

"Outside Crowley's place," Dean told him. "Apparently that god-prick you let in likes to keep sweeping back in like it's some sort of home base or some shit."

Castiel tried to nod his head but it felt a little off; he wasn't used to the size or weight of this one yet. "Has it." He had to stop and think a little. Get the brain and vocal equipment better in sync. "Has it been long? Since I last saw you?"

Dean's brow furrowed and smoothed again. "You remember snuffing Raphael?"

Castiel gave a slow, heavy nod.

"Yeah, well." Dean glanced away, glanced back. "All up? Maybe about ten hours since then? Not exactly sure myself. Balthazar zapped us one way and then our champion chick zapped us another…"

"You sent someone," Castiel said carefully, getting used to hearing his own voice vibrating against Claire Novak's vocal cords, rather than Jimmy's.

"Yeah. The champion," Dean confirmed. "She seems to kick seven kinds of ass, huh?"

Castiel nodded. "She's a fine warrior. How did you find her?"

"Me and Claire, we uh, paid a visit to Fairyland." One side of Dean's mouth pulled slightly in a rueful expression. "Had a word with their big guy. Oberon."

"Oberon," Castiel repeated slowly. "Of course. Cernunnos. I should have recognized him when I was wearing yours."

Dean frowned at him in confusion. "When you were wearing my what?"

Castiel lifted a hand to his throat and plucked at the length of leather, pulling the amulet that hung from it out of Claire's clothes.

Dean's eyes widened in recognition and surprise. "That's my – !"

"No," Castiel interrupted, "it's not, Dean. It's another. Your champion wears one also."

Tentatively, as though unsure whether he was allowed, Dean reached a hand toward the bronze head hanging from Castiel's neck and held it between a thumb and forefinger. The look on his face reminded Castiel of how Dean had looked at _him_ several months before, when the Staff of Moses was at large in the world and Castiel had answered Dean's prayer for the first time in over a year.

"Ya mean to tell me," Dean murmured, "all those years I was wearing that thing, it was fucking _Oberon_ I had around my neck?"

"If you wish to know him by that name. Yes."

"Huh. I'm not exactly a huge fan of that guy, y'know."

"He gave you a champion."

Dean snorted a tiny huff of laughter and let the amulet fall from his hand, eyes tracking up to meet Castiel's gaze. "Just never ask me what I had to do to convince him. Okay?"

Castiel gazed at him silently for a moment, then nodded his head once. "As you wish."

The moment stretched and neither of them moved, eyes locked.

"It's so freaky seeing you two doing that from this angle." Both of them looked up at Jimmy.

Dean coughed lightly and stood up. "Can you stand?" he asked and offered Castiel a hand without waiting for his answer. Castiel accepted it and allowed Dean to help haul him to his feet. To Claire's feet.

Castiel looked down at Dean's hand holding his and Dean promptly let it go. Castiel took a deep breath into Claire's lungs and casually examined the boundaries of this vessel. It was much changed from the previous time he'd been housed here. His grace approached Claire's soul and pressed against her gently, thanking her for the accommodation. Then he looked about them, meeting eyes in turn with Sam, and Amelia Novak, and Bobby, and Balthazar. Castiel closed his eyes and swiftly talked himself out of absconding. He needed to face them all. He needed to face his brother.

"Cassie." Balthazar's voice was suddenly close-by. "You _have_ been a duffer, haven't you, sweetheart?"

Castiel opened his eyes again to find his brother at his side. "Perhaps I… I could say I knew you would fake your death yet again?"

"You could." Balthazar smiled sadly. "Though I wouldn't believe you."

No. Castiel hadn't believed himself when he'd said it, either. Nor when he'd done the deed. He supposed he should have known something was amiss when there was no wing-burn from Balthazar's "death". But he'd been… pre-occupied.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Well, naturally," replied Balthazar. "This jacket was a Bond Street original."

Castiel had no idea what his brother was alluding to, but the wink with which it was punctuated did much to calm his heart.

A booming sound to the south suddenly cracked overhead. All the humans present jumped at the sound; Jimmy's form shimmered about the edges, as though the soundwave had disturbed his carefully constructed presence. Castiel and Balthazar both turned their heads in the direction of Crowley's compound.

Sam seemed to voice everyone's thoughts – "What the hell was that?"

"That," said Balthazar, "is what I would call a great disturbance in the Force."

Castiel tilted his head in agreement. "As though a billion souls cried out as one," he added, "and then were silenced."

The look Dean gave him at that suggested a surprised "What the fuck?!" was not far behind it. Castiel frowned at himself. "Uh," he said eloquently. "I think that was Claire. Not I."

Balthazar chuckled softly beside him. "I guess someone should go check out all that palava." He cut a sideways look up at Castiel. "Shall we? Brother?"

Castiel gave a nod.

"You be careful with my daughter!" Amelia called over to him.

"I will," he assured her, and he and Balthazar took flight.

The champion was standing at a metal sink, slaking her thirst directly from the spigot. Sensing the angels' arrival, she shut the water off and turned toward them. "The water here is vile," she spat.

"Yes, well," Balthazar said vaguely. "Corrosion, you know. Aged plumbing… demon halitosis – what the Hell went on here?"

"Battle."

"You don't say."

"Is He gone?" Castiel asked.

The champion found a soiled rag on one of Crowley's cutting tables and used it to wipe the bulk of the gore from her blade. "They are all gone."

Castiel looked around at the sprays of blood across every surface. "My vessel?" he asked softly.

"You wear it."

"No, my other. The one we were inside – "

The champion looked pointedly at one particular blood-spray. Castiel could feel Claire becoming panicked.

"Easy peasy!" Balthazar declared. Castiel glared at him. "What? Cas, darling, we're IN the resurrection business, remember? Since when have you been one to give up so easily?"

"Farewell," said the champion, turning to leave them to it.

"Stop," Castiel urged. "I still have this." And he made to take the amulet from around his neck.

"Keep it," she told him. "Wear it as a reminder."

Castiel blinked at her.

"Of what you did," she finished, turning on her heel and marching away.

Castiel let the necklace fall back into place, the diminutive bronze head suddenly a millstone. And he welcomed it, was suddenly comforted by its weight.

Balthazar was standing with his hands splayed on his narrow hips, looking about them at the gory mess. "Well, then," he sighed, "should we find the largest recognizable part and get to it?"

 

Even in a long day of weird shit, seeing Claire Novak carrying the body of her father as if he weighed nothing was still pretty jarring. Dean and Sam and Bobby held back from the scene, letting the Novaks and the angels sort everything out between them.

"Shit, man," Dean muttered at no one in particular.

"What?" Sam asked him.

"S'nothing," Dean said automatically. Then, eyes still on the strange spirit-stuffing and resurrection procedure, he clarified a little. "It's just… that family, you know? How much they've done for the world? And probably no one outside of who's standing here right now will ever even know about it. Never know all the sacrifices that one family's made."

"You could say the same thing about our family, Dean." Sam's expression was sad. Dean let it go.

Overall, it didn't seem to be a very complicated process, getting Jimmy's spirit back into his meat suit, though what the hell did Dean know? Still, it was good to see it didn't take so long, saving Amelia (and Claire, if she was hip to all this) any longer without Jimmy complete and whole and with them. Even if it was gonna be a pretty crappy and short-lived family reunion.

Balthazar finished whatever he was doing and stepped away from the little group as Jimmy sat up and reached instinctively for Amelia. The angel walked over to where the Winchesters and Bobby were standing around.

"Does warm the sub-cockle areas," he said breezily as he stood with them. "You know, doing good works, performing miracles and all that."

"Careful," Bobby grouched. "Ya might get mistaken fer an actual angel."

Balthazar smiled condescendingly and looked about them, almost as if he simply didn't know what to do with himself. His smile slid away when his gaze landed on Dean's car. "Oh dear," he muttered. "The old girl's seen better days, hasn't she?"

"She's pulled through worse," Dean said firmly.

"Has she, indeed?" Balthazar threw over his shoulder as he walked away toward the Impala.

Instinctively, Dean followed after him. He almost told the angel off when he made to put his hands on Dean's baby, but Balthazar paused and Dean held his tongue.

Balthazar looked back at him. "May I?"

That was enough to make Dean's mind up for him. He'd trust this guy with his car. Weren't many folk he could say that about. "Be my guest," he found himself saying.

Balthazar touched her like she was a lady – Dean appreciated that. He stroked her and calmed her before taking a step back and proceeding to magic her gently into the air, just like she was an X-Wing fighter rising from a swamp. Then he turned her carefully and brought her back down to the ground, letting her land as gracefully and softly as… well, as a lady weighing almost two tons.

"Damage?" Balthazar queried. Smug bastard looked like he was smirking a little, but Dean figured he couldn't begrudge him that.

"Knock yourself out, Yoda."

Balthazar chuckled quietly and reached out to her again. Baby's glass and panels were fixed so quickly that Dean didn't even see a blur of motion.

When Balthazar turned from his work, Dean met his eye steadily and gave him a nod. "Thanks, man. I appreciate it."

"Too bad if you didn't, really," Balthazar sniffed at him, but there was a twinkle in his light blue eyes that made Dean suspect he was on firmer ground with Cas's brother right that moment than he'd ever been.

Footsteps approaching made them both turn to see Cas walking toward them, still wearing Claire.

"Everything alright, Cassie?" Balthazar asked.

"I'm, er, giving Jimmy and Amelia a moment alone before I…" His voice trailed off. There wasn't really any nice way to put it, Dean figured.

Dean glanced over at the Novaks. They were holding each others' faces, alternating between kissing and rolling their foreheads together so they could lock gazes at close quarters. Jimmy's thumbs kept smoothing over Amelia's cheekbones and Dean guessed there were tear tracks being disturbed there. He glanced away again, not wanting to intrude further, and busied himself for the next few minutes with checking over his restored car.

"Right then," Jimmy's voice announced a short time later, his voice a little thick but his resolve holding steady. "Let's get this over and done with."

As Cas approached him, ready to move his grace from Claire back to her father, Jimmy looked over to Dean and met his gaze steadily. Dean thought he looked like he had stuff he wanted to say but knew there was fuck-all time in which to say it.

"Dude. What?"

Jimmy shook his head sadly. "Nothing," he clearly lied. He glanced at Cas and then back to Dean again. "It's just… Dean? Don't let me stop you, okay?"

"Don't let you stop me from what?"

"You know," Jimmy replied cryptically and nodded for Cas to do his thing.

Cas worked swiftly – whether not wanting to drag events out any longer than necessary for the Novak women, or to nip Dean and Jimmy's conversation in the bud, Dean couldn't be sure. Cas touched one of Claire's hands to her father's face and allowed the angelic transfer to begin.

Dean had seen the three of them, the two vessels and the angel they were forever tied to, do this before, but it seemed somehow more… intimate this time. Claire wasn't a little girl anymore, and seeing her look into her father's eyes _like that_ , even though it was actually Castiel and his freaky intense laser gaze, had a slightly more confronting effect. Or something. Dean didn't wanna examine it all too closely.

When it was done, Cas put Jimmy's hand into the collar of Claire's shirt and Dean's mouth opened automatically to say "Whoa, what the – ?", but he shut it again when he saw the amulet being lifted over Claire's head.

"The champion told me to wear it," Cas explained quietly, "to remind me always of what I did here." He put the necklace over his own head and tucked the amulet into the collar of Jimmy's white shirt. His gaze flicked up to Dean's briefly. "So I shall." And his gaze flittered away again.

There were a tense couple of moments where no one seemed to know what the fuck to say. Now that the danger was neutralized and they were all standing there physically, if not _emotionally_ , intact, it was hard to know how to proceed. Where to from here? How the hell did they all get on with their lives now? Dean felt like punching something.

"Will you take Claire and Amelia with you back to Bobby's?" Cas asked. "So they may retrieve their car?"

"Course we will," Dean snapped back at him. As if they'd just leave the women there in the middle of nowhere. "Or," he added pointedly, "you and Balthy could just zap us all back there and save us the trip. My car, too."

Cas swallowed. "We need to, uh." He stopped and swallowed again. Dean could see Jimmy's Adam's apple move. "We need to return to Heaven – "

"Cas!" Dean growled at him. "After EVERYTHING we've just done? You're running out on us AGAIN? For that pack of dickbags upstairs?"

"Down, Fido," Balthazar cautioned him.

"Screw you!" Dean countered. "Screw you both. I thought we just fought for a friendship here. Fuck all this." And he started storming away in frustration and fury – bitter disappointment, too. His gut was churning like there were rats in there and he was afraid he might completely lose his shit in front of everyone.

"I defeated Raphael," Cas yelled, beginning to charge after him. "But he still has supporters, Dean! We need to make sure they're subdued – otherwise all of this really was for nothing!"

"I can't believe you're leaving again!" Dean turned and yelled back. He was so worked up that he only just caught himself from throwing the word "me" in there. He planted his feet and held himself up straight, wound tight, as Cas stormed right into his personal space. Expecting a punch or the very least more yelling, Dean braced himself for some sort of impact. Instead, Cas completely took the wind out of his sails with his next words.

"Two days," the angel breathed into his face.

"What?"

"Two days," Cas repeated, eyes boring into Dean's. "Allow me that to put my affairs in order. To make sure I'm not leaving more messes behind. Then pray to me."

Dean felt his mouth moving, but there was sure as hell no words coming out.

"Forty-eight hours, Dean," Cas pleaded with him. "That's all I'm asking for. If you still feel you can bear to see me again after that…" he licked his bottom lip briefly. "Then pray. And I will come."

"And what if you're in the middle of something big and important forty-eight hours from now?"

"I'll still come."

The churning in Dean's gut bottomed out and he was terrified he was about to hurl. He willed the feeling away. Felt sweat prickling his palms.

"Forty-eight hours," Dean forced out. He pried his gaze away from Cas and glanced down at his watch. "I'm timing you." He looked back to pleading midnight blue in time to see realization dawning there, realization that Dean was actually agreeing. "Better go," he warned. "You're down to forty-seven, fifty-nine already."

Cas's gaze dropped to Dean's mouth for an instant before returning to his eyes. One nod that was barely more than a dip of the chin, and Cas was gone. Balthazar, too.

Dean barely spoke another word from there to Bobby's. Just piled everyone into his car, pointed her nose north and put his foot down. The nine hour drive took care of the first block of hours, he supposed.

Other blocks of hours were taken care of either beating the shit outta the old punching bag in Bobby's garage or drinking himself into a coma – except for the three hour block spent curled up in the panic room, drifting around on some purloined Vicodin.

Around two the next afternoon, with a bunch of hours still to go, Dean busied himself with giving his baby a service. Balthazar had fixed all the cosmetics, sure, but the only way to know if the nerve center was ship shape was to pop the hood and get in there and find out. Besides which, engines calmed Dean. Mechanic's blood, he figured, just the same as he had hunter's blood. He liked the smell of engine grease and the clinking sounds of the tools as he handled them. It was near as therapy as Dean ever truly allowed himself.

He heard boots scrunching across gravel behind him and looked over his shoulder to find Claire smiling shyly at him. She was holding a beer in one hand and a Coke in the other and she held both up in offering.

"Your pick," she told him.

Dean shook his head at her in amusement and took the beer, twisted the cap off and sent it pinging away into the bowels of the junkyard. He clinked the bottle against Claire's Coke in a small salute. "Cheers."

They both took a drink. Dean wiped the grease off his hand onto the sweaty t-shirt he'd stripped down to.

"My Mom and me," Claire started, "we're getting ready to hit the road again."

Dean nodded. "I figured." He took another swig of his beer, savoring the coolness in the back of his throat. "You okay, Claire?" He gave her a steady look. "Y'know… everything good with you?"

"I seem to be all back to normal, if that's what you mean."

They leaned side by side against the front of the Impala, Dean facing straight on, Claire putting her hip out a little so she was more side-on to him.

"I'm sorry," he told her quietly. "Sorry that you had to go through all that, see some of that stuff."

"It's not your fault," she assured him. "We all had to do what we had to do. You were just getting the job done."

Dean glanced sideways at her. "Weirdest thing I've ever had to do for a job."

"I won't tell anyone." A little color bloomed in her cheeks. "Trust me, I'm keeping that particular memory alllll to myself."

"Shit, Claire…" Dean's gaze darted around the immediate vicinity, making sure there was no one about to overhear this conversation. "You can't say that kind of thing to me."

"Why not?"

"Lemme put it a different way – _I can't let you_ say that kind of thing to me. You're only sixteen."

He'd hurt her. He could tell right away; her expression shuttering him out. After steadfastly not treating her like a kid at any point through all this, he'd now gone and played the age card on her and it had stung.

Claire fixed her gaze on some mid-point nothing and looked like she was gnawing on the inside of her mouth. "You don't remember what it's like to be sixteen?" she finally asked, voice a verbal pout.

"I remember all too fuckin' well."

She looked up at him as he swore. Dean took another drink of his beer and copied Claire's lean, putting his hip against the grille so he could face her better.

"And because I remember," he continued, voice quiet, "I know exactly what you're gonna be usin' some of those memories for." He kept his eyes on her face. "So I don't need you tellin' me. Okay? And because of the difference in our ages… I'm sorry, Claire, but I can't _let_ you tell me. It's inappropriate."

Claire scoffed lightly. "Inappropriate?! After what we've just been through?"

"It's screwy, I know." He gave her a soft smile and, after a beat or two, she returned it half-heartedly. "You wanna know what I think?" he asked conspiratorially.

"What?"

"After the shit you've gone through? I think, if you can turn some of that crap around and find something in there to use to make yourself, uh…" He'd been about to say "feel good", but he quickly fumbled for something less obvious. "…make yourself _happy_? Then I say – more power to ya, sweetheart."

Claire smiled properly at him, clearly liking Dean's fucked-up logic.

"Also?" Dean took another quick swig and gave her a long look. "Don't go thinking I'm not flattered." He paused for effect, let his expression fall and added uncertainly – "Unless you're, er… meaning Oberon?"

Claire started to laugh, holding a hand over her mouth the shy way so many girls did.

"I mean," Dean drove the joke home, "the dude certainly was… tall."

Claire flat-out cackled at that and Dean allowed himself a small laugh too, pleased to have once again skillfully wove his way out of a tricky situation with humor.

Amelia Novak's voice suddenly rang out across the junkyard, calling her daughter's name. Dean and Claire both looked toward it instinctively.

"Guess your mom's about ready," Dean noted, putting his beer down on the ground by his car. "I better come say see-ya."

They took a few steps toward the house together before Claire stopped him with a hand on his arm, looking up into his face with a serious expression.

"Claire?"

She bit her bottom lip for a moment. "You know he loves you, right?"

Dean couldn't think of what to tell her.

"I've been his vessel twice now, Dean. And after the whole Angel Thing it's, like, the very next thing that's there. It's _that_ much a part of who he is now."

"I…" What the hell could he say to that?

"It's nothing to be scared of, you know," Claire insisted, as they heard her mother calling for her again. Then she got really bold and kissed him quickly on the cheek, before running off ahead to her summons.

Dean stood where he was for a few moments more. He was trying to swallow down the notion of Cas's feelings for him being second only to Cas's sense of self as an angel, trying to get the panic that induced in him to calm some. Then, slowly, he followed Claire to the house to say goodbye.

 

Sam was sitting at the desk in Bobby's office, reading through some obituaries online. It was more habit than an earnest search for a job, but he felt the need to be keeping himself busy. Sooner rather than later, he was sure, Dean was gonna be needing something to jump into, take his mind off Lisa and Ben – Cas, too, he supposed. So Sam figured he may as well try to have one or two possibly suitable somethings ready to go.

It'd only been about forty minutes since the Novak women had hugged them all goodbye and driven out of their lives once again. Sam was expecting Dean to spend most of the rest of the afternoon either leaning into or lying underneath his car. So he was surprised when Dean appeared in the doorway between the office and the kitchen, leaning against the architrave, all cleaned up and wearing his jacket. Holding his car keys, even.

"Uh. Dean?" Sam's hands hovered over the computer keyboard. "You goin' somewhere?"

Dean jangled the keys once in the palm of his hand and then stuffed them into a jacket pocket. Took a few steps into the room. "I'm, ah. I'm gonna take off for a few days."

Sam sat back in the desk chair, staring at his brother. "You are," he eventually said, not entirely certain if he was saying it as a statement or asking it in query. It came out sounding a little of both.

"Yeah." Dean shrugged. He took another step closer, until he came to the straight-backed chair on the other side of the desk. Instead of sitting, he put his hands onto the wooden back and leaned there. Finally, he looked up and met Sam's eyes. "Maybe a week. I dunno."

"Can I ask why?"

"Don't need a reason, do I?" Dean ducked his head again. "Just wanna be drivin', y'know? Just wanna be on the road."

Sam nodded a little. He could understand that. "You don't want some company?"

"Not for a while."

Sam tilted his left wrist and checked the time. "You've got barely less than four hours left 'til your forty-eight's up."

"I'm aware."

"Dean – "

"Sammy," Dean cut in over him, voice firmer, gaze flinty.

Sam backed down at the warning in Dean's tone, but he still felt compelled to reach out, to offer… he didn't know _what_ exactly, but _something_ , instead of just watching his brother walk out on his own, clearly hurting. Dean'd made it perfectly clear, back in the parking lot of Oakview Memorial, that the topic of Lisa and Ben was an absolute No Go Area. And Sam could respect that, even if he didn't agree with it. But that didn't mean other topics couldn't be dealt with.

"You're gonna make sure to pray to him. Aren't you?" When Dean didn't answer him, Sam prodded a little. "Dean?"

"We'll see."

"You'll see?!"

"Yeah, Sam, I'll see. For now, I wanna pick a direction and just drive, okay? So that's what I'm gonna do. I didn't come in here for you to sign me a permission slip."

"I think the guy really does care about you, Dean – "

"Can we not have this conversation?"

"Why does it freak you out so much? Guys have had the hots for you before."

"Never – " Dean glared a little, cutting himself off from whatever it was he'd been about to say. He took a deep breath. "Never one that was a friend," he finished quietly.

Sam wished desperately, for probably like the six millionth time in his life, that his brother wouldn't let his emotions eat away at his insides the way he did. He'd have an ulcer by his forties if he wasn't careful.

He was pushing it, Sam knew, but he had to get Dean to let something out. "Well," he said carefully, keeping his tone calm and even, "there's always friends with benef – "

"For fuck's sake, Sam!" Dean pushed away from the chair he'd been leaning on, rattling it with the force as he wheeled around. "I don't swing that way!" he growled as he headed for the doorway.

Sam sighed heavily as he climbed to his feet. "Yes, Dean. You do."

His voice had been quiet, a counterpoint to Dean's yelling, but the power of his statement, of what he was 'fessing up to knowing, was like a bomb being dropped.

Dean jerked around to face him again, his expression outraged. "The hell you saying?"

"I mean, it may not be very often or anything," Sam rushed to explain. "But, every now and then…" his voice quieted again, "…you do."

So many emotions flitted across Dean's features that, on any other day, in any other moment, it might even have been funny. But right then it was very nearly heartbreaking. He looked confused and cornered and exposed and betrayed and a dozen other things, all at once. Sam almost wanted to take it all back. Turn it all into some massive, jerk-of-a-little-brother joke.

Dean stared at him. Wet his lips just enough to speak, his voice low and dangerous when he finally found it. "And just how the fuck do you think you could possibly know a thing like that about me?"

"Because," Sam said simply, heaving his shoulders up into a quick shrug and letting them fall again. "You're my brother, Dean. We live in each other's pockets. I know you, man."

He could practically see the instant when Dean admitted defeat, when he obviously decided that Sam was too certain to be laughed off or threatened away.

"How long?" Dean cleared his throat. "How long you known?"

Sam shrugged again. "I dunno, years. Before Stanford?"

"Fuck." Dean wiped a hand over his face, held his bottom lip between his teeth for a beat or two before looking Sam in the eye again. "Did Dad know?"

"No! No, I don't think so."

Dean closed his eyes momentarily at that, relief washing over him. When he opened them again, he turned and marched purposefully out of the room. "I'll call when I get somewhere," he called back over his shoulder.

"Dean – !" Sam rounded the corner of the desk, intent on going after him.

"Let him have his space, Sam." Bobby suddenly entered the room from the other doorway, obviously having overheard from the hallway a significant portion of what was just said.

Sam stopped in his tracks. "Christ, Bobby, I'm sorry. You weren't supposed to hear that."

Bobby merely shrugged, hands in pockets. "Ain't no big deal," he said nonchalantly. "Not exactly earth shattering events we're talkin' about."

Sam was a little dumbfounded at that. And obviously that showed itself pretty plainly on his face, because Bobby gave his take on the revelation without even being asked.

"Dean's a hedonist," he explained, ambling toward his desk and the whiskey bottle that stood on it. "Always has been. There was no way that kid was gonna grow up stickin' to the straight n narrow." He sloshed some liquor into a tumbler. "Honestly? I'd be more shocked to find out there were somethin' he _hadn't_ tried."

 

The direction Dean picked was east. He was burning through Minnesota, nearing Austin, when his watch beeped at him. He took the next exit and drove a little ways into Austin itself, eventually finding a place to stop, right next to a sign directing visitors toward the SPAM Museum.

He just sat there for a few moments, listening to the engine tick down. Feeling like a jerk for every second that passed by.

"Now I…"

Shit. Dean cleared his throat. Took a deep breath. And another. Then he leaned forward, until his forehead touched the steering wheel.

"Now I lay my head on my fucking steering wheel," he started again. "I pray for Castiel to sit his ass down next to me." He rolled his forehead against the worn leather. "Seriously, Cas. I – "

"Hello, Dean."

"Er." Dean sat up straight again. "Hey." He pulled at his jacket a bit where it had tightened across his shoulders. "It's been two days."

"Yes."

"So… how's things upstairs?"

"Things are," Cas paused, as though trying to find the right word. "Stable." He peered impassively out the side window and then out front. "Where is this?"

"Place called Austin."

"Texas?"

"Hell no – Texas is _cool_. This is Minnesota. They worship meat-in-a-can here."

Cas turned his head toward Dean and gave him a long look. "So why are you here?"

Dean licked his bottom lip. Cas's gaze tracked down to watch it. Holy shit. "I, ah, I just needed a drive, you know? Told Sam I'm taking a little break."

"You're taking 'separate vacations' again?" Dorky fuck even did the quotey-fingers.

"Naw, it's nothing like that. I just need a coupla days out on the road. Maybe a week. I dunno, man. I just needed some me time."

"You time?" Cas nodded absently. "I see."

"Somehow, something tells me that you really don't."

Cas didn't have any come-back to that and Dean couldn't think of what to say next, so they both ended up sitting there for a short while, neither of them saying anything. It wasn't entirely _un_ comfortable, but it wasn't entirely the opposite, either. Dean drummed his fingers on his thighs.

"Do you have a destination?" Cas eventually asked him.

Dean took a giant leap into the unknown. "Thought I'd let you decide."

 

It took a moment for the enormity of Dean's statement to sink in properly. Dean wanted Castiel to decide on a destination because…? Oh.

"I. I don't have anywhere I especially need to be," Castiel said carefully.

"Well, that's kind of the whole point, Cas. We don't _need_ to be anywhere. For the first time in way too fucking long, if you ask me. So c'mon, man, pick somewhere."

"Within what parameters?"

"Anywhere we can drive to!" His eyes were wide and very green in his excitement. "Uh, that is, within the States, dude. All forty-eight continental ones, at least."

Castiel thought a moment. "I can't think of anywhere."

"Sure you can," Dean insisted. "Just name a place. Any place."

"I really don't think – "

Dean reached across and put his hand onto Castiel's left knee. "Dude." His hand squeezed slightly. "Just… name somewhere."

Castiel's mind lurched at the unusual contact, but his mouth formed words. "Niagara Falls," he heard himself say.

Dean squeezed his knee again, very briefly, and withdrew his hand. "Well alright, then! Niagara it is!" He rearranged his feet in the footwell and put his hand – the one that had just beggared belief by squeezing Castiel's knee – to the keys in the ignition. "American Falls, you realize, right? Can't take ya to the Canadian bit. Fricken arsenal in the trunk, man, can't do any border checkpoints." The engine turned over and Dean flashed Castiel an almost-shy half-smile. "Press the play button for me, will ya?" And proceeded to ease the car back into traffic.

Castiel stretched his hand out to press the required button. Music that Castiel recognized from a previous time immediately filled the car. A song Dean had told him was by a band with the lamentable name of Black Sabbath. The musicianship was very good; the lyrics… very Dean. Castiel glanced sideways and saw the glee it invoked as Dean tapped his hands on the steering wheel and sang along with the part about seeing the Pope on the end of a rope. Castiel couldn't help but like it.

They drove for hours. Apparently, when Dean had declared he needed to drive, he wasn't being in any way facetious. They didn't have conversations, for the most part. They would talk when something needed to be said, but Dean seemed happy to just be moving, playing his music, headed somewhere, headed somewhere with… whatever Castiel was to him now… in the passenger seat, someone to point out funny roadsigns to, or tell he needed a caffeine hit or to take a "leak". Castiel had only experienced Dean in this way for such an extended period of time once before, when the two of them spent a day traveling toward laying a trap for Raphael, when the Winchesters had been living apart and Dean hadn't wanted Castiel to fly him anywhere. Something fundamental and fragile within Castiel's grace glowed fiercely at the memory, the reminder of how things had once been between them.

When the time was nearing five AM and they were nearing Toledo – a city much less holy than its namesake, Castiel was sure – Dean pulled the car off the highway and into a deserted rest area.

"Just need to close my eyes for a while," he mumbled. He climbed out of the car, stretched, then opened the rear door and got into the backseat. "Half an hour or so," he told Castiel as he lay down along the seat, feet still on the floor. "That's all I need."

"Of course," Castiel said.

"You don't mind?"

"Why should I? I'll just wait for you."

"Fine."

It sounded a little like Dean fell asleep before he even finished speaking that one syllable. Castiel sat and watched the world beginning to lighten as dawn approached, listened to the sound of passing traffic and the first stirrings of the local birds. He also listened to Dean breathing while he slept; a strangely intimate occupation.

Dean hadn't said _why_ he was taking Castiel with him on his vacation. Why did he want the company of the friend, the brother, who had so recently hurt him? Castiel was confused. And then there had been that touch earlier. Dean touching his knee. What was Castiel supposed to deduce from that?

Castiel sat, and waited, and couldn't stop thinking about anything but Dean.

"You'll strain something, thinking that hard."

Castiel turned his head and looked into the backseat. "You're awake."

"No shit, Sherlock." Dean checked his watch and swore without any conviction. "I've been out more than a hour!"

"Seventy-three minutes. Yes."

Dean yawned and sat up. "Good thing I'm on holiday, then. 'Cos you're a lousy alarm."

"You didn't instruct me to wake you."

Dean gave him a look that would normally accompany a "Yeah, well". He caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror and hastened a hand into his hair, putting to rights the side that he'd been sleeping on.

Castiel watched while Dean got out of the car, breathing in the new morning deeply as though it refreshed him, before climbing back behind the wheel. His right hand fell immediately to the ignition and he glanced up sideways at Castiel. "You okay?"

"Yes." Castiel frowned slightly. "Why do you ask?"

Dean started the engine, shrugging with one shoulder. "No reason. Just thought I should."

One breakfast break, three hours and two hundred miles later, Dean suddenly shouted over the top of something called Thin Lizzy – "Hey! D'ya know what Jimmy meant about not letting him stop me?"

Castiel clasped his hands together and rested them primly in his lap. "No," he shouted back.

"Huh."

They got to the outskirts of Niagara Falls, New York in the middle of the day. A McDonald's restaurant drive-through took care of Dean's lunch needs and he drove one-handed, eating burgers, while searching out a motel. Castiel kept glancing surreptitiously at the large beverage cup that was nestled securely between Dean's thighs.

When a motel that seemed to appease Dean was found, he parked the car in front of the office. The place was nondescript, two long, low arms of concrete stretching out from a central hub. It looked to have been built in the 1970s and had probably only met with one fresh coat of paint since then.

Curiously, Dean hadn't made a move to get out of the car as yet. Castiel looked at him, wondering why he was hesitating.

"Dean?"

"Hm? Yeah. Yeah, I'll just… go get us a room. I guess." He met Castiel's gaze only briefly as he spoke, gathering up the paper bag of lunch litter from the seat between them.

Castiel watched him leave, deposit the litter in a metal trash can, and push open the door to the check-in office. Six minutes later, he re-emerged with a key on an incongruously large piece of orange plastic and got back into the car.

Number twenty-eight was the last room on one of the rows, orange curtains framing the single window. Dean parked the car in the bay directly in front of the door, removed the keys from the ignition and got out without another word. Castiel, too, got out of the car for the first time since their breakfast stop and waited while Dean retrieved his duffel and securely locked up his baby. Hefting the bag over one shoulder, Dean stepped up to the motel door. Key in the lock, he glanced back at Castiel.

"You comin'?"

Castiel silently followed Dean into the room.

The accommodation was about the standard fare the Winchesters could afford, and felt therefore vaguely comforting. Dean threw his duffel bag onto the sturdy-looking dining table under the window and placed the keys to the room and his car beside it. While he was there, he reached over and pulled the orange curtains closed across the window. When he turned from this task, he saw Castiel looking at the matching queen beds and gave a tiny smile.

"Force of habit," he shrugged.

Castiel frowned in confusion and stepped a little closer to Dean. "But I won't need it," he reminded.

"Well, no…" Dean swallowed and wet his lips, gaze flitting between Castiel's eyes and mouth. "Look, Cas. I'm in completely new territory here, okay?"

"Upstate New York?"

"No, doofus. This. This whatever the hell we're doing here."

Castiel blinked. "We've come to see the Falls."

Dean chuckled softly, his gaze gone distractedly fond. "Cas. I didn't drive halfway across the country just to look at a whole lot of water."

"I don't understand."

Dean sighed a little and took a step closer. "I thought maybe spending some time together'd be good for us. Y'know. Get us back on the same page again. Remind ourselves why we liked each other so much in the first place."

Castiel felt lightness and agitation. Suddenly, he, too, was standing in completely new territory. It was terrifying and desirable at the same time.

Slowly, as though he was afraid Castiel might flinch away, Dean raised his right hand up to Castiel's shoulder, let it land there lightly. An unthreatening, but nonetheless completely debilitating touch.

"Wanna kiss you," Dean murmured gruffly, sounding like he needed to clear his throat.

Castiel stared into his face, amazed. "Don't let Jimmy stop you."

The hand on his shoulder tightened and pulled him forward.

 

Dean was glad that the room's table was in fact as solid as it looked. Bending Cas backward over it as he was, and adding his own weight to the mix, too… lesser pieces of furniture wouldn't have coped.

Their first kiss had been almost chaste. Their lips meeting dryly for maybe three seconds, tops. Then Dean had moved his hand from Cas's shoulder, up over his coat collar and into his hair, cradling the back of his skull, pulling Cas back to him downright demandingly. Once Dean made his mind up to go with a certain course of action, he was nothing if not determined.

Not surprisingly, Cas had caught on quick and laid on Dean the same move he'd put on Meg six months ago, exerting a fraction more of his strength and pinning Dean against the nearest bit of wall. Crowding in on him, holding his head steady and kissing him so fucking hard that Dean actually grunted into it.

It would take a great amount of alcohol and a _very_ trusted companion for Dean to ever admit out loud what a fucking turn-on that was. But, hot or not, it couldn't be allowed to go on for too long – _Dean_ wasn't the virgin in this tango, after all.

Using one hand on a shoulder and the other on the opposite hip, Dean was able to apply enough pressure to get Cas moving; Cas was amenable, otherwise Dean wouldn't have been able to budge him. Their mouths never moved too far apart the whole way, the whole five awkward steps it took for Dean to back them toward the nearest item of furniture. Ideally, it would've been one of the two beds in the room, but instead it turned out to be the table. Not wanting to give up the hold he had on Cas's hip, Dean moved his other hand up to the nape of the angel's neck and bent him backwards over the table, pressing his own body ultra close and following him down.

Dean's duffel bag was still on the tabletop, of course, but that actually turned out to be a blessing, providing not only a little cushioning for Cas's shoulders, but also helping to angle the top half of his body up toward Dean as well. There was no support for his head, so Dean took care of that himself, sliding his hand up to the back of Cas's skull, splaying his fingers wide there to cradle him properly as they continued to kiss.

Their thighs interlocked straight away, though it took Dean a clumsy moment or two to find the perfect alignment of hard-ons and hips and legs – especially tricky, given the tendency of zippers to cut into over-sensitive flesh when said hard-ons were trapped inside the confines of clothes as they were. When he did find that perfect fit though… holy fucking shit. He rocked down against Cas and Cas rocked up against him in answer and the table made an unsettling creaking sound, but held firm.

Cas had his left leg wound so tight around Dean's right thigh, the pressure of it was enough to distract Dean's brain from the awesome tongue-fucking he was currently being given. He let his other hand wander downward, groping at the long, solid muscle of Jimmy's thigh, appreciating the firmness beneath the press of his fingers. God, he wanted to bite into it. Not exactly practicable right then though, so he slapped it instead.

"Get this up," he ordered against Cas's mouth, pulling back from the kiss the barest distance so his words could be better understood. "Pull this leg up," he said again. "Put it around my waist."

Cas grunted beneath him and obeyed, immediately drawing his leg up and hooking his calf over Dean's ass. The change pushed their cocks harder together. Cas made a sound that may have started out as a gasp, but the rest of it got lost in Dean's mouth.

When Dean next broke for air, he took a moment to study the face so close to his. The tips of their noses were brushing together every second or so breath, so Dean couldn't focus as clearly as he might like on those blue eyes or that now-swollen mouth, but he gleaned enough to see that the overload of sensation was clearly affecting Cas. The intensity of what they were doing together, the shocking focus of the heat and urgency of mounting desire, was taking its toll. Cas was starting to look wrecked, like he couldn't believe it, couldn't believe what Dean was doing to him, how Dean was making him feel.

And Dean, for all his years of sexual experience, totally got that. It _was_ pretty fucking amazing, that they were doing this. Not just that they'd finally got over all their bullshit, or even that they'd both survived long enough to still be around to get it on like this, but that it was _them_ \- Dean Winchester and Castiel, the perpetual sinner and the triumphant angel of Heaven – doing this. That, that right there, was so fucking amazing that Dean came in his jeans like a schoolkid and could only laugh about it and kiss Cas again, the kiss so sloppy it made Dean laugh more.

 

"Shit, Cas, what did you go and do that for?"

"I thought you'd appreciate not having to clean up the mess we made."

"Dude. The mess is half the fun."

"Half?"

"Well, okay, fine. Not half. But it's part of the fun, okay? Trust me."

"I see. Would you… like me to replace the mess?"

"What? Oh fuck no! Dude! Weird! _Way_ weird!"

 

Sam pounced on his phone when it buzzed him Bon Jovi's "Keep The Faith", the ring tone he'd assigned calls from his brother. "Dean?! Hey. How you doing?"

"Yeah," Dean drawled down the line. There was faint music in the background and a sudden, booming voice requesting a price-check. A Walmart, Sam guessed, or something similar. "Everything's fine, Sam. Just calling 'cos I said I would when I got somewhere."

"So where are you?"

"New York."

"City?"

Dean huffed a laugh into his phone. "Nah. State. Niagara."

Sam laughed a little himself. "Wow, Dean. You're being a tourist?"

"S'what folk do on vacation, isn't it?"

In the background, a deep and incoherent voice asked something and Dean muffled his phone to reply. It sounded vaguely like "No, that's Scottish, get an American one".

"Dean?"

There was movement while Dean obviously juggled his phone and then he was talking properly into it again. "Yeah, Sam? What?"

"Was that… Is Cas there with you?"

Across the room, Bobby glanced up from his book for the first time since Sam's phone had rung.

The only answer Dean deigned to make was, "Frigging angels, man, can't tell the difference 'tween bourbon and scotch." Which, of course, was all the answer Sam needed. Dean was taking a holiday, with Castiel. Sam couldn't help his grin.

"So," he said airily, "what're the Falls like?"

"Fuck knows," came Dean's reply. "Haven't seen 'em yet. Just getting in some supplies right now. Might go see 'em tomorrow."

Sam nodded, even though his brother couldn't see him. "Okay. So. Any idea how long this vacation's gonna last?"

Dean made a non-committal noise. "Why? We gotta job? Hey – you wanna postcard?"

"Uh, sure, if you wanna. And no, I haven't found us a job yet. Coupla possibilities, maybe…"

"Well, you find anything, just lemme know, okay? I gotta go, Sammy. Say hi to Bobby for me."

"Yeah, course."

"See ya."

"Yeah, Dean. Bye."

 

After testing the quality workmanship of the dining table so rigorously as they had after check-in, Dean had convinced Cas they needed to make a supply run to the nearby store. He'd called Sam while they were out, letting his little brother know where he was at least. He and Cas stocked up on whiskey and Twizzlers and chips and Mountain Dew. Dean stocked up on lube. He found a ridiculous postcard with a bunch of girls standing at the Falls in the middle of winter, wearing ski boots and bikinis – perfect. On the walk back to the motel, they detoured into a diner where Dean ate a bacon sandwich and bought half a dozen doughnuts to go.

Cas had sat across from him while he ate, watching the bacon oil soaking into the bread in Dean's hands with faint distaste. "How you maintain your athletic build is beyond me," he said across the formica tabletop. "Considering your diet of habit."

Dean had grinned around his mouthful. "Perks of the job."

When they'd got back to their room and set down all of Dean's purchases, things got temporarily uncomfortable. Now what? Should they watch some TV and act like they weren't both desperate to tear each others' clothes off? Or should they just own the fact that they were on what amounted to a "dirty weekend" and get on with it? Dean looked at Cas and Cas looked at Dean and neither of them seemed to be able to think of anything intelligent to say. Then Cas did something Dean had never seen him do before.

Cas carefully removed his trenchcoat, looking Dean boldly in the eye the whole time. Dean's breath deepened, just watching that. The coat got thrown onto a chair and Cas stood there, arms at his sides, one eyebrow quirked slightly. Dean's legs had moved him forward without his brain really even thinking about it.

Slowly removing the holy tax accountant outfit, item by item, was vaguely terrifying. And well it should be, Dean figured, seeing as how it meant all kinds of things involving intimacy and points of no return and things that can't be unseen and all. He willed his fingers to quit it already with the tiny tremors they were making and got on with the job.

He took the suit jacket off first. Pushed it off Cas's shoulders and slid it down his arms, blindly throwing it toward the same chair the trench was already on. He'd gone for the cuffs of the white business shirt next, though was momentarily thrown by the fact the buttons there were already undone. Dean moved in even closer than he already was and pulled Cas's shirttails out of his suit pants, listening to his own heartbeat thudding in his ears.

Cas tilted his head while Dean worked, watching his face curiously as Dean lifted his hands to the knot of Cas's tie. The eyes that matched that tie were kinda hard not to meet right then, watching him with such trust and wonder as his trembling fingers blindly worked the knot loose. Dean let the tie hang where it was while he moved on to the translucent shirt buttons, fumbling them all open until Cas's chest was bared to him. In one go, shirt and tie were both removed and thrown onto the chair.

Jimmy's body, living its years firstly in civilian life and then in the stasis of angelic vesseldom, was slight in build and largely unscarred in flesh. An appendectomy was about the extent of trauma this body had endured prior to meeting with Castiel.

Dean ran his thumbs along Cas's collarbones and let his hands glide down over his chest, flirting across already hard nipples and stroking firmly down his sides. Stomach muscles jumped slightly under Dean's fingertips and sharp hipbones fit his palms so perfectly that there was nothing else for it but to pull on them gently and let Cas's body fall against his.

From there, things got a little… heated. Their mouths, apparently, had been away from each other way too fucking long and had some serious catching up to do. And Dean's body, apparently, had way too fucking many clothes on it; Cas quickly remedied that.

By the time they finally got horizontal together – on one of the beds this time, thank god – they were both hard enough to pound nails, painting each other's cocks in pre-come as they rutted against one another on a stupendously fugly orange bedspread.

Dean had never been naked with another dude before. He'd done his fair share of fooling around, of course. Hand-jobs, blow-jobs. He'd screwed three or four guys over the years. Let one screw him once. But they'd all been short-lived hook-ups, moments grappled with in alleyways and men's rooms, a tumble in and out of a seedy rent-by-the-hour. There hadn't ever been anything that required nudity, just exposure of the necessary parts and corresponding places. And maybe Dean understood better why that was, now. It was more than just his body being laid bare. He was letting himself be vulnerable with another guy and – outside of family – that was something Dean Winchester simply did not allow himself to be.

He straightened his arms on either side of Cas's ribcage and lifted his head up, gasping in air. Beneath him, Cas tilted his chin toward the ceiling and looked up at Dean through narrowed eyes, one corner of his kiss-bitten mouth tugging upward into a tiny smile. His long, pale throat already sported a round bruise of mauve just above the leather cord that held his amulet, and the shadows of his collarbones gleamed faintly where sweat was already collecting. For an angel, Cas was looking pretty debauched, and Dean only wanted to make it worse.

"Wanna mess you up, Cas." Dean slid his cock hard alongside Cas's as he spoke. "Wanna show ya what I can do."

A bare foot stroked down the back of his right calf and Cas licked his lips. "You wish to mount me?"

"Shit, don't call it that!" Dean chuckled anyhow. "But… yeah. I guess." He sobered and stared down into Cas's eyes. "What d'you think about that?"

"I'm curious to experience it." As he spoke, Cas trailed his hands swiftly down Dean's back and stopped on his ass.

"But, it's a sin. Right?"

Cas squeezed at Dean's ass rhythmically. "Like you care."

God, that squeezing felt good. Dean's cock leaked a little more and Dean closed his eyes against the sensation briefly. If he couldn't get his dick inside something soon, this conversation was gonna be pointless.

"I don't care about it being a sin for me," he said bluntly, opening his eyes again. "But it's gotta be a bigger deal for you, right? Or to your folks upstairs?"

"They already… whisper about my attachment to you. My sin would be in lying with a human, not in the physical specifics of the act. And as far as I can tell, Dean, I've committed this sin once today already."

Huh. Dean hadn't thought of it like that. Here he was, deliberating over whether what he wanted to do was gonna get Cas in trouble, and he'd already gone and done the damage – and on the fricken dining table, no less – without even thinking about it.

Damn it.

They ended up doing it from behind, Cas face-down on the bed with Dean settling over his back. Cas let him in so easy, just two shallow thrusts and a third that went long and deep and had him all the way in, all the way home.

"Holy – !" Dean buried his face into the side of Cas's neck, found himself mouthing at the knot in the amulet cord. "Fuck, Cas. Fuck…"

Cas groped behind himself with his right hand and grabbed hold of the back of Dean's thigh, digging his fingers into the muscle as Dean got moving in earnest. With his other hand, Cas stretched up and took a hold on the top edge of the mattress, using it to help brace himself into each of Dean's thrusts. Shit, for a virgin he certainly seemed to know all the good things to do.

"How you know to do that? Hm?" Dean whispered hotly with his mouth right on Cas's ear.

"Much time spent watching," Cas stuttered back, his words broken up with breathy little cut-off gasps as he took Dean's cock, Dean's weight. And hell, Dean loved hearing his voice like that.

"Always knew you were a voyeur, Cas."

Dean used his knees to spread Cas's legs wider, dropping the angle of his hips a little into the created space. Soon as he did so, Cas made an entirely new noise and Dean stilled his movements, panicked for a moment that he'd hurt him somehow. Ridiculous, obviously – dude was way stronger than Dean ever would be, Dean would only be able to hurt him if the angel actually allowed him to. He made the noise again as Dean pushed back into him and Dean's brain high-fived him as he realized what he'd done. He was fucking up against Jimmy's prostate gland. Cas was finding out what the male G-spot was all about. Dean grabbed around the back of Cas's left knee and pushed it higher up the bed, making him spread his legs so wide he had to take some weight onto his knees, lift his hips up from the mattress.

"Yeah," Dean groaned. He reached around Cas's hips, now that there was space to do so, and circled his hand around the hard, wet cock. "Can tell you like this, Cas." He slid his hand up and down the sticky shaft a couple of times. "Fuckyeah, you love this."

"I – " Cas started, but lost his train of thought somewhere in the middle of what Dean was doing to him. He turned his head as far onto his shoulder as it would humanly go and gazed up at Dean from the corners of his languid eyes. "Want your mouth," he moaned out softly.

Dean didn't need telling twice. He twisted a little to the side and stretched his neck sufficiently to be able to slide their mouths against each other. It wasn't exactly a kiss – they were both too far gone for that and the angle was tricky – but they could breathe together and taste one another. And that was all it took to bring them both off, Cas crying out first and Dean following him, both of them oblivious to the headboard banging into the wall.

Cas was about to find out what was so convenient about having one bed to fuck in and another, fresh one, to bed down in.

 

Castiel lay awake – always awake – in the dark and listened to Dean sleeping, felt Dean sleeping. After the sodomy they'd indulged in together, Dean had hauled Castiel across to the second bed and the two of them had tumbled into it in a tangle of overheated limbs. Dean had smiled at him all soft and droopy-eyed, loose and languid with satisfaction, and promptly fell asleep across his body. Castiel had pressed his nose into Dean's damp hair and inhaled his scent hungrily, breathed him in like springtime, like mornings, like… He'd realized, with a shock, that he was waxing poetic about the smell of Dean's sweat.

So this was why humans were so fond of unnecessary copulation. Above and beyond the imperative to breed, there was this. This closeness of feeling. This curious light-headedness. This conspiracy of shared pleasure. This… bond. Castiel had never really understood the odd phrasing humans had assigned to the act – "making love". How could love be "made", he'd always wondered. But it seemed he'd found a new understanding now. And, as with most of the revelations he'd experienced on Earth, the man sleeping in his arms, dribbling onto his shoulder, was at the heart of that understanding.

Hours passed. Castiel mused.

"I can feel where he's been," Jimmy roused himself to quietly tell him.

"Yes," Castiel confirmed. "I wanted to hold onto that sensation a little longer. Would you like me to erase it?"

Jimmy took a moment to respond. "No, it's okay," he said eventually. "This isn't about me."

"Thank-you for making this possible."

"Yeah, you owe me."

Castiel gave a little smile. "I do, indeed."

"I'm happy for you, Cas. Truly." Jimmy sighed shallowly. "I'm going back to sleep now."

Castiel thought that was the end of the conversation, but then Jimmy's voice floated through his mind once more – "You know, I honestly don't think Dean'd mind if you woke him up for another round right now. Just saying."

 

Dean woke up with a hand on his dick. Though not _his_ hand. It'd been a while since he'd got a wake-up-call that nice. The room was still dark but a vague lightness around the shape of the curtained window suggested dawn was pretty damned close.

"I find it fascinating," Cas murmured against his temple, obviously realizing that Dean was awake now. "That I can feel your heart beating through your erection."

"S'just blood pumping," Dean mumbled. He wrapped an arm around Cas's neck and dragged him half on top of himself. "Get up here."

Cas slid the rest of the way on top of Dean and settled his weight carefully, primly, as though he was scared he might crush him. Dean just wrapped his arms around him and pressed their bodies tight together.

"This is much better without clothing."

Dean grinned into the darkness. "No argument there."

Cas rocked against him experimentally, his cock sliding in the crease of Dean's thigh, and Dean stroked his hands up and down Cas's sides and onto his ass and back again. Found himself wondering briefly if Jimmy had been much for cycling or running, maybe. Dude's thighs were so hard he could probably crush someone to death. If they were lucky.

The rhythm was a bit hit and miss, but the enthusiasm couldn't be faulted. And when Cas honest-to-god _manhandled_ him suddenly onto his side and shoved his cock between Dean's thighs from behind, Dean decided to just let him do whatever the fuck he wanted, let him take what he needed. Hot damn.

"You wanna fuck me, Cas?"

"Yes." Cas palmed Dean's cock as he rutted against his ass. "I'll do that later."

Ohhkay. "Not now?"

Cas bit into Dean's shoulder, stifling a moan. "No. Right now I'm doing this." And he came. Just like that.

No guy he'd ever got it on with had come like that, between Dean's thighs, splashing jizz all over his balls. He'd never have believed how fucking hot that would be. He put a hand over Cas's on his cock and squeezed, made him stroke harder and faster, thought about Cas fucking him later and blew his load into their hands.

It shouldn't have surprised him, really, that Cas then raised his come-covered fingers up to his mouth and tentatively trailed the tip of his tongue through Dean's spunk. Dean was pretty frigging happy that the room had lightened enough for him to be able to see that, to see Cas getting his first taste of come, of _Dean's_ come. Christ. He hauled Cas in close and kissed the hell out of him.

 

"I'm getting my ass into the shower. Seriously, I look like something out of a bukkake video."

"What's a… bukkake video?"

"Er. Never mind. You comin'?"

"Into the shower?"

"Yeah, into the shower. Get rid of all this jizz 'n' lube. Then we can start getting dirty all over again. Crap."

"What?"

"We've gone and fucked up _both_ beds now. That wasn't smart of us."

"The one you sodomized me in will be dry by now."

"Will you stop calling it that?"

"But I like the word."

"Great. I'm screwing a traditionalist."

 

Castiel discovered he liked showers.

And oral sex.

 

Dean was sitting up, leaning back against the headboard, getting mercilessly teased by a motherfucking angel of the lord. Cas was straddled over Dean's lap but kneeling up tall, and Dean slouching down the bed a little meant that Cas was able to slide his cock into Dean's mouth. Only, the fucker wasn't doing that. Instead, he was trailing his cock all over Dean's face and neck, watching its progress with a riveted expression.

"C'mon, man," Dean groused. "Quit fuckin' teasing me. Just stick it in my mouth, for chrissake. Lemme suck you off."

Blue eyes flashed to his. Cas guided the tip of his cock across the seam of Dean's lips and when Dean opened to him, he slowly pushed in. Grateful, Dean closed around him and sucked noisily. But then Cas pulled out again, trailed his cock down to Dean's chin and rubbed it along the hard line of Dean's jaw.

"The fuck you doin', Cas?"

Cas hissed in a sharp breath and closed his eyes for a beat or two. "I'm… reveling, luxuriating in you. Enjoying the differing sensations." He repeated the actions again, pushing into Dean's mouth momentarily. "Your mouth is so very warm. Wonderfully wet. And when I move back – " he slid his cock out again " – the ambient room temperature feels deliciously cool where I'm wet with you. And when I touch against your jaw – " he pushed his cock along the line of Dean's chin again, hitching in another sharp hiss as he did so " – the sensation of your beard growth against this sensitive flesh is – " his gaze dragged up to meet Dean's again " – the sensation is beyond description."

Dean stared up into his face, fascinated by the open, unashamed lust he saw there. "Kinky sonofabitch, Cas," he whispered, half in awe.

Cas tilted his head and watched as he trailed his cock up to Dean's right cheekbone. In its wake, Dean could feel what must have been a streak of pre-come. Cas quickly bent down and licked the trail away again, then straightened and resumed exploring Dean's face with his dick.

"I'm enjoying marking you in this way," he told Dean impassively. "Making you taste of me, smell of me."

Dean snorted a short laugh. "Next thing, you'll be wanting to piss on me!"

Seeing the calculating look in Cas's expression, Dean immediately regretted putting _that_ idea in the angel's head. "Dude! You are NOT pissing on me!"

"I think I'd like to sodo – _have sex_ with you now."

Dean smirked. "Tell me you wanna fuck me, Cas."

Cas sat back on Dean's legs, hands resting lightly on Dean's shoulders. "Dean. I very much want to fuck you right now."

"I've only _let_ someone do that once, you know. Lotsa years ago now." Dean licked his bottom lip. "Then there was Hell – "

"Dean." Cas stroked one hand through Dean's hair, looking deeply into his eyes. Leaning in, he pressed his lips to Dean's, a swift and heartfelt kiss. "Dean, I want to _make love_ to you." He stroked his hand into Dean's hair again, forceful but careful. "May I? May I pleasure you in that manner?"

Dean smiled up at him. "You are such a friggin' dork." He let Cas tilt his head up and kiss him deep and hard and wet. "Yeah. Yeah, you fucking may." He made sure to capture Cas's mouth again when Cas tried to pull back. "Just… fuck me face to face, okay?"

 

In the heaven of the poet Akhmatova, Castiel had once stood witness to the creation of beauty. It was a precious memory, comforting and life-affirming. He didn't know exactly why he was thinking of that as he penetrated Dean's body, as he caused Dean's breath to deepen and Dean's heartrate to ramp up. But thinking of it, he certainly was. Thinking of poetry, of beauty, of… The memory changed to a completely different one and Castiel laughed awkwardly as he thought on it.

"What?" Dean asked him. "What are you laughing at?"

"It's just occurred to me," Castiel told him. "That I can no longer truthfully declare I've never been in your ass."

Dean's expression swiftly morphed from confusion to amusement and he chuckled, too. And oh – the sensation of that, Dean's body trembling around Castiel's penis as Dean laughed, how was that so sublime?

Dean squeezed his hands upon Castiel's buttocks and smirked up at him. "And don't you dare even _think_ about getting out of it within the next few minutes. At least."

"Not likely."

"Good. Now start fuckin' fucking me."

"Have you always been obscene?"

"Never was an altar boy, Cas. Now c'mon." He slapped Castiel's behind and grinned sharply. "Make me scream to your daddy."

He was incorrigible. Sinful and blasphemous and so beautiful and _good_. So good, he could enrapture an angel, drag a warrior of God from the path of obedience, while barely even knowing his own goodness. It was a cosmic inevitability that Castiel would love him.

And so Castiel did. He loved him deep and hard. He loved him quietly and loudly and he entertained a vague idea that they could perhaps break the bed if he loved him too vigorously. He loved him with his entire being, every fiber of his grace and his host body both. He loved him with Jimmy's permission and sacrifice, and he loved him with Jimmy's surprised enjoyment.

When Castiel ejaculated, Dean did indeed commune with Castiel's father – though it was more a groan than a scream. And when Castiel folded Jimmy's body and bent his head down to take the crown of Dean's erection into his mouth, Dean called him a "bendy bitch" and spurted hot across his grateful tongue.

No poetry could compare.

 

Dean was on-hold to a pizza place and surreptitiously ogling Cas. Good ol' multi-tasking. This vacation was shaping up to be the best Dean had ever had. Basically – a LOT of sex. How could it be beat?

"Thank-you for holding. May I take your order?"

"Uh yeah. Can I get a large meat-lovers with extra cheese? And a six-pack of beer."

"We do a meal offer on large pizzas with a bucket of wings for just four dollars more…"

"Wings, huh? A whole bucket?"

"Yes, sir."

"Hell yeah, sign me up! Can I get some hot sauce with that?"

"Mild, Hot, Triple-X, Death or Make You Cry?"

Dean was kinda loving upstate New York right now. This _was_ the best vacation ever!

Twenty-two minutes later, when there was a knock on their room door, Dean grabbed a pair of shorts off the floor (Cas's, it turned out, or Jimmy's, rather) and put them on quickly. He stooped to pick up his jeans and wrestle out his wallet, then dropped them and padded over to the door, scratching a flake of dried come off his stomach.

The delivery kid had a whiny voice and a disturbingly giant zit on his chin, but the pizza and wings smelled fantastic.

"Dooood," the kid drawled at him as he passed items across the threshold. "Your room, like, totally reeks of jizz."

Dean quirked an eyebrow at him. Seriously? He nudged the door with his shoulder, letting it fall open further. "Yeah?" he said, smug as can be. "Must be all that mind-blowin' sex we've been having in here."

The kid's eyebrows disappeared under the peak of his green delivery dude cap and his eyes went owlish. Dean smirked and glanced back into the room, seeing what the kid was seeing – the room in a mess, both beds wrecked, clothes all over, and Cas butt-naked and sprawled on his front on the far bed, watching some "Casa Erotica" of very tasty lesbian strap-on action with all the concentration of a scientist solving the world's problems.

"Say, what's the weather been like?" Dean asked, nonchalantly thumbing three notes out of his wallet and holding them toward the kid, giving him his best shit-eating grin. "I haven't put a foot outside in days."

The kid's cheeks were burning as he stammered out some crap about the cloud cover this time of year and Dean decided to be nice and quit fucking with him. Dean was feeling _incredibly_ well laid, after all, and that always put him in a generous mood. He thumbed a ten from his wallet and held it out.

"Here, kid. Go buy yourself a skin mag."

"Serious?! Wow, thanks." He gratefully plucked the money away and favored Dean with a crooked grin. "I'll never say a bad word about fags again!"

"Too fuckin' right you won't," Dean growled at him, suddenly serious. "Because I'd hate to have to put you down." He knew how dangerous he could look to civilians. Even in nothing but boxers and clearly unarmed, he was making that kid quake. Oh well – he could use his powers for good, at least. "And don't throw that word around like that," he ordered. "Ya hear me?"

"Yes, sir," came the answering squeak.

"Good man," Dean nodded at him. "Now go on, get." The kid turned and fled and Dean closed the door.

"I think you just scarred that child for life," Cas told him casually, chin in his hands as he continued to watch the dykes on the tv screen.

"Yeah," Dean sighed in agreement, cracking open the lid on the bucket of wings and taking an appreciative sniff. "But I tipped him big and educated his ass at the same time. I'm still goin' to Heaven."

Cas gave him a long, knowing look. "Yes. Yes, you are." And returned his attention lesbian-way.

 

Two days after arriving in Niagara, Dean and Cas finally got around to visiting the Falls.

Dean leaned against the protective barrier, hands in his jacket pockets, and looked out at Canada and then down. "Yup," he said slowly, raising his voice a little to be heard over the crash of the Falls, even though Cas was standing right next to him. "Just as I suspected. It's a whole lotta water."

"It is," Cas agreed. He was looking decidedly windswept.

"C'mon." Dean knocked his shoulder against Cas's shoulder. "Let's hit the gift shop. Wanna see if they've got souvenir panties for Sam."

He ended up buying Sam a pen instead. A nice one in a box, with "Niagara Falls, N.Y." etched into its side. A cap for Bobby was an easy choice. He lost sight of Cas for a little while and eventually found him holding an I HEART NIAGARA FALLS bumper sticker, tilting his head at it like it was trying to tell him a secret.

"Oh hell no," Dean told him firmly. "You ever hope to have your cock sucked again, you put that thing down right now. Nothin' douches up my baby!"

"I wasn't seriously considering – "

"Yeah, well you _keep_ not seriously considering. Pick somethin' else."

"Like what?"

"I dunno. A shot glass or somethin'. Think little." He clapped Cas on the shoulder and wandered away to look at bottle openers.

Several minutes later, Cas found him again and sheepishly held up a shot glass that had a tiny picture of the Falls on one side and DEAN printed on the other.

Dean couldn't help smiling. "Lemme guess – you couldn't find one with your name on?"

Cas shuffled a little. "There was a Cassandra."

"Heh. Oh! Hey! Was there one with Samantha?"

 

If Cas were actually human, he'd most likely be pretty sore, Dean figured. Leg cramp, maybe, from having one bent up over Dean's shoulder for so long. And butt-hurt – literally – probably for certain. But almost twenty minutes into a severe ass-pounding and the guy was still gazing up at Dean like he'd just found nirvana. It was kinda confronting, really. Dean couldn't help gazing back, though, no matter how intense the staring got, no matter how under-his-skin that gaze could be, how stripped bare it could make him feel.

The both of them were pretty fucking far gone, apparently. Squeezing each other's hands constantly as they shuddered into one another, fingers threaded through each other's hold; helped get better leverage for the screwing, Dean bullshitted himself. Their eye-fucking was every bit as hard and forceful as what their bodies were doing. They were so tangled up together, so welded tight, Dean wouldn't have been surprised if their hearts were even thudding about in tandem. Dean watched a bead of sweat that fell from his own face landing onto Cas, just near the corner of his mouth, and Cas snaked his tongue out immediately to lick it up and claim it. _So_ fucking far gone…

When his phone suddenly jumped on the nightstand and blared out its ring tone, the first – pretty stupid, really – thought that slammed into Dean's brain was that the motel manager was probably ringing to tell them he'd had complaints about the noise they were makin'. In that instant, too, Dean suddenly realized that the bed was groaning how much it hated them and the headboard was beating a staccato on the wall that had probably been going on for the last ten minutes or more.

"Fuck. Sam." Of course it wasn't the motel calling on his cell. Dean un-twined his fingers from between Cas's and let his leg slide heavily off his shoulder. He got his knees a bit more under himself and, cock still inside Cas, knelt up enough to reach over and grab his phone. He took a deep breath, collecting himself, before picking up the call.

"Oh hey! You're there!" Sam's voice said in surprise. He'd obviously expected to be chatting to Dean's voicemail.

"Yeah, I'm here, Sam. What's up?"

"Well. You told me to call if I found us a job. You okay, man? You sound a bit puffed."

"Course I am." Dean sat back onto his heels and let his dick slide slowly out of Cas. "Just ran for the phone," he white-lied.

Sam snorted at that. "Getting slow in your old age, Dean."

"Yeah, yeah. Fuck you very much. What kinda job?"

"Mass haunting in a private girls' school near Longview in eastern Texas. Seems their friendly ghosts have suddenly turned less-than-benign on 'em, though no one knows why..."

"Sammy," Dean purred into his phone, "you had me at 'private girls' school'." He caught the look Cas was giving him and cleared his throat. "I'm a day out from Texas though. I can be on the road in an hour, meet ya there this time tomorrow."

"Yeah okay. Me and Bobby are leaving pretty much now. How about I call ya when we get to Longview? We can have a motel or somethin' sorted out by the time you get there."

"Sounds good."

"You sure you're okay about ending your vacation?"

Dean looked down into Castiel's face. Cas was looking about as happy at having his holiday cut short and having a fuck finish without coming as Dean would expect.

"See you in Longview tomorrow, Sam."

"Dean?"

"Gotta go." He hung up and dropped the phone onto the nightstand with a clatter, simultaneously leaning back over Cas. "Hey," he said softly, lowering himself down. "Hey."

"I don't require comforting, Dean."

"No? Well, then." He leaned against Cas's side, bracing himself on one arm, and putting his other hand tentatively to Cas's cock. "You wouldn't be wanting me to do this, I guess?" He squeezed his fingers and watched the angel's mouth go a little slack.

"I don't require…"

Dean pressed their mouths together briefly and jacked Cas with a firmer stroke. "Yeah, you do." He kissed him again, a little longer. "I do, too."

They left Niagara Falls about half an hour later than Dean had told Sam they would, but they both seemed more relaxed about the drive ahead than they otherwise might have been.

 

Half an hour into Pennsylvania, Dean was singing along with his music even louder and with more gusto than he had on the journey between Minnesota and Niagara several days earlier. He even sang along with a lot of the instruments, window wound down, left elbow sticking out into the sun. He was loose and at ease, in his element, enjoying himself. Castiel fell into a contemplative mood, letting the music and Dean's voice and the rumble of the car carry and steer his thoughts as the road miles fell away behind them.

Would he return to Heaven now? Dean was returning to work, after all. Perhaps that was an unspoken indication that Castiel would be expected to do likewise. Strangely, after having fought so strenuously for Heaven as he envisioned it – very nearly losing himself and his life for it in the process – the prospect of living out the remainder of his centuries there didn't fill him with the joy he had hoped to feel.

Maybe… one day, years from now… when Dean became part of the Heavenly landscape…

"Well, I'm a raaaamblin' man!" Dean sang at the top of his lungs. "Don't fall in love with a ramblin' man!"

Oh.

Castiel opened his mouth to make an announcement. Closed it again. Pressed the pads of Jimmy's fingers together in his lap.

"Cas?"

He glanced up to find Dean frowning at him in between looks back to the road.

"You okay, man? My singing givin' you a headache?"

Castiel intended to formulate an answer to the question. He _had_ an answer to that question. But when he opened his mouth to speak again, something entirely different fell from his lips.

"I wish to stay."

It was probably just as well they were on an open stretch of road at the time, Castiel supposed, considering the way Dean pulled the Impala onto the shoulder so sharply and brought them to an abrupt halt. Dean threw the transmission into neutral and twisted the key in the ignition, shutting the car down. The engine clunked a little in seeming protest of the treatment.

Dean wrenched his door open and spilled out of the car, as though desperate to get to the outside, to the sunshine and fresh breeze. Castiel watched him put his hands on his hips and tilt his head up toward the sky. His back was to the car, so Castiel couldn't see his face, but he imagined that Dean would have his eyes closed just then, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. The straight line of his shoulders very nearly shook with tension. Gone was the relaxed looseness of mere moments ago.

Quietly, Castiel opened his own door and climbed out of the car. He closed the door carefully and walked to Dean's side, wondering what outburst he was sure to be soon on the receiving end of.

When Dean heard his approach, he looked up sharply, meeting Castiel's eyes only briefly before looking away over the landscape. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and crossed his arms over his chest.

There was no outburst. Apparently, there were only questions.

"Who's gonna run Heaven if you're not there to keep all your jerk relatives in line, Cas?"

Castiel blinked. "Uh. Joshua agreed to step forward. A… a stewardship, if you will. And Balthazar will keep – "

"Balthazar?! Seriously?"

"He's actually very good at his job, Dean."

"And what job's that?"

"He was Heaven's quartermaster before the war. Hence his ready access to so many precious items."

"A _quartermaster_? Like, a fuckin' store keeper?"

"Julius Caesar was a quartermaster," Castiel pointed out quietly.

Dean made a dismissive sound and leaned back against his car, arms still crossed tightly over himself. "And what'll happen to you down here, huh? Will you lose your wings? Turn mortal?"

Castiel hung his head a little way. "My powers will diminish."

"Like last time?"

"No, it will take longer. Last time, I was cut off, on the run from Heaven. This time, I'll be taking my leave." He mentally groped for an analogy that Dean might understand. "Like… like an émigré, Dean. I'll assimilate over time, but I'll forever remain tied to my homeland."

Dean was staring at him, taking that in. Castiel considered that to be a good sign – that he could bear to look at Castiel for longer than he had two minutes ago.

"What'll you do?" Dean asked eventually.

"Do?"

"Like a job or whatever."

"I," Castiel gulped. He hadn't much contemplated…

"You'd make an awesome hunter, Cas." Dean's voice was quiet. "There's always folks need saving."

Castiel leaned against the car, too, his hands touching the metal behind himself as he considered Dean's suggestion. "I might eventually… need to learn shooting."

"I might be able to help with that."

Castiel looked sideways at him and saw that Dean wore a small smile now, his shoulders a little less tense, and Castiel allowed himself to relax by a few degrees also.

"You know," Dean ventured, "even if you never learn to shoot for shit, you've got one hell of an archive in that brain of yours. All those ancient languages and crap? You'd be an asset to any hunting outfit on the planet. Hell, you've probably already forgot more than any of us'll ever know."

 _Any hunting outfit on the planet._ The couple of degrees Castiel had relaxed tensed up once again. Were he and Dean having two slightly different conversations?

"Any idea about where you'd like to live?"

Castiel felt an unfamiliar chill across the middle of his back, as though ice had just caught at the roots of his wings. He was glad for the comforting solidity of the Impala holding him up.

"Talk to him, Cas," Jimmy suddenly spoke up. "Ask him what you need to know. Ask him what he wants."

"I'd like to live – "

"Cas!" Jimmy insisted. "Ask him."

"Dean." Castiel turned his head and looked into guarded green eyes. "Dean, when I say I wish to stay…"

"Yeah?"

"I wish to stay… where you prayed for me to be."

Dean's brow furrowed in consternation.

"Sitting my ass down beside you," Castiel reminded him. "It's you, Dean. I wish to stay with you."

Dean seemed to chew on the inside of his mouth for a moment. "I don't want you to fall just because of me," he said tightly. "Can't have that on my conscience."

"It won't be Falling in the _traditional_ sense," Castiel countered. "As I've tried to explain – "

"I don't want you to feel like you've gotta stick around just because I'm some pathetic sonofabitch who's never made a single relationship in his entire fuckin' life work out – "

"What gives you the impression I think tha – "

"Don't want you doing this just 'cos you think it's what I expect you to do!"

"I DON'T, Dean!"

"Well, what DO you think I expect you to do?!"

"LEAVE YOU LIKE EVERYONE ELSE DOES!"

The words, the volume and vehemence with which they were said, shocked them both. The glare Dean was giving him was, obviously, mainly anger, but Castiel could clearly discern the hurt that was fuelling it, too.

Dean's stance changed imperceptibly and in Castiel's mind, Jimmy tried to give him one helpful instruction – "Duck."

Castiel didn't though. He side-stepped casually as Dean took a swing at him, catching Dean's fist in one hand and simultaneously pressing him against the car with the other. He couldn't let Dean hit him; he'd only have to heal his knuckles for him afterward if he did.

"Lemme go," Dean growled.

"I don't want you to hurt yourself."

"You've gotta let me make that sort of choice for myself, Cas!"

Castiel looked down impassively at his right hand splayed wide across the center of Dean's chest, and relented. He took a step back, letting his arms fall to his sides, watching Dean's gaze flit about as he straightened himself and his clothes after the manhandling. Castiel tried to relax his frame, his features, as much as he could, hoping to make himself softer, an easier target for Dean's fist to connect with.

Dean's hands came at him, but they weren't clenched. Instead, Dean grabbed up two fistfuls of suit and tie and trenchcoat and hauled Castiel bodily forward. He dragged Castiel right into his space, tight up against his body and stared him down with the last tendrils of the anger that had flashed so quickly to the surface.

"Kiss me, you feathery bastard."

A passing truck on the highway honked its horn at them as Castiel obeyed.

 

  
It was raining in Longview. Dean got a text from Sam telling him what motel to head for and he told Cas to stay in the car a few minutes while he went in and had a word with his brother. For some reason, Dean was actually _nervous_ about explaining things.

Huh. "Explaining things". That kinda implied that things could actually be "explained". And Dean sure as hell didn't know how the fuck they could be. Still. He supposed he had to try.

"Hey, man." Sam slapped him on the shoulder, waving him into the motel room.

"Hey, Sam. Bobby." Dean fidgeted with his car keys.

"You wanna beer?" Sam offered, letting the door bang shut and crossing the room in two strides to reach the tiny fridge.

"Or there's some hunter's helper here, if yer prefer it." Bobby sloshed a bottle in the air over the paper-strewn table.

"Uh. Yeah." Dean was already calling himself a pussy for not stating his case as soon as Sam said hey. "Whiskey'd be great. Thanks." He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, still hovering near the door. "So… nice room."

Both Sam and Bobby looked at him like he was an idiot. Which – yeah, fair enough.

"If yer anglin' for a swap," Bobby ventured, "no dice. TV reception's better in mine."

Dean spluttered a nervous laugh. "Nah. It's not that. I'll just, ah." He bit at his lower lip a little. "I'll be needing a separate room is all."

Predictably, Sam worked it out first. "Oh my _god_ , Dean! You're kidding me?!"

"I don't think I am," Dean muttered.

Bobby, part-way through pouring Dean a drink, looked from one to the other of them. "Someone gonna fill me in? Or do I gotta beat it outta one of ya?"

Dean coughed into his hand. "Well. Me and Cas – "

"Ah," Bobby interrupted. "Guess I'll be needing another glass, then."

Sam was giving Dean a look that was so indulgent and goddamn _wet_ that Dean couldn't even come up with a lame enough insult for it. "Quit lookin' at me like that, Sammy. It's not like I'm _pregnant_ or something."

It looked like Sam attempted to pull a face at that, just because those were the rules, really, but it was obvious his heart just wasn't in it. "So where is he?" he asked excitedly. "You haven't left him sitting in the car, have you?"

A soft knock seemed to answer that. Though when Dean called out for him to come in, the angel simply popped into the room without using the entrance.

"Hello," Cas intoned to the room in general, hovering near Dean while Dean continued to hover near the door.

Bobby stood up from the table and silently brought them two tumblers of whiskey. Dean was sure the old guy looked like he was trying his best not to smirk at 'em.

"So what're you gonna do?" Sam wanted to know, his excitement still bubbling over. "How're you gonna live? Shit, _where_ are you gonna live? You gonna settle down somewhere or what?"

"Fuck, Sam, how's about one damn question at a time?" Dean took a swig of whiskey and glanced at Cas. "Honestly though," he gave his attention back to Sam. "We don't really know. Though I'm certainly not settling down anytime in the near future, I'll tell ya _that_ much for nuthin." He looked toward Cas again, gaze being drawn back like always. Cas was looking at him steadily over the rim of his tumbler as he drank. "We'll work it out," Dean found himself saying.

Cas lowered his glass and gave him a slow nod before sparing Sam and Bobby a glance. "We're making it up as we go along," he informed them solemnly.

Dean had heard him say those words before, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Dean just as he was right now. Telling Chuck the Prophet how the two of them had thrown in together and decided to save the world. It had floored Dean to hear him say it then, and the effect was no less fucking spectacular this time around. On both occasions, Dean packed it away somewhere private, swallowed it down to keep the knowledge of it safe inside, got on with the job at hand.

Speaking of…

 

Castiel drank bourbon quietly and observed the three hunters in the room discussing the mass haunting with which they had all gathered here to deal.

Multiple times within every minute that passed, Dean's gaze sought out Castiel's. Strangely, for all the steps forward they had taken their association in the past few days, such constant seeking out of gazes was not a new development. Castiel felt calmed and comforted by that.

"Cas!"

The sharpness of Dean's voice roused Castiel from his contemplations. "Yes?" he answered.

Dean raised one eyebrow at him. "I said, what do you think about this?"

"I, erm..."

"Oh for fuck's sake!" Dean took hold of the top of the last empty chair, the one beside him, and yanked it out from the table. "Sit your ass down over here."

Castiel experienced joy at the invitation, so close to the last prayer Dean had devoted to him. He crossed the room and took his place beside Dean. Within, he could feel Jimmy Novak nodding.

"Go with love, Castiel," Jimmy told him softly.

  
**Epilogue**

  
For all that Dean and Castiel insisted they were making it up as they went along, Sam couldn't help finding himself impressed, as Summer dragged on, by just how well they seemed to be making "it" work. That was the first revelation – that they were both actually working on their relationship. The second revelation came hot on the heels of the first – they were succeeding.

Sam didn't know what he'd expected it to be like. That Cas would become a permanent fixture in the backseat of the Impala? Or that Sam would be evicted from shotgun, even? That Cas and Dean would set up house together somewhere? Or what? Honestly, Sam had no idea. But even allowing for how little idea he had about it all, he still felt vaguely surprised at just how little their lives had actually changed.

Sam and Dean (and Bobby) continued to hunt. Despite there being no more impending Apocalypses and no more supernatural civil wars for them to get caught up in, the world was still full of ghosts and monsters and demons and any number of other things that went bump. Hunters still had work to do.

Sometimes Cas would join them – especially when they asked for his assistance. But most of Cas's time, while the Winchesters were hunting, was spent zapping himself about the place, "doing angel crap" as Dean so eloquently put it. Apparently, that short stint as some sort of god had unnerved the angel a little more than he'd let on and that, coupled with the prospect of his powers diminishing in a few short years, filled him with the need to get as much angelic work done as possible, while he still could. He was intent on small miracles, random acts of kindness, helping others. Dean didn't say much about it, but Sam came to realize there was another revelation there, just subtly, in the way Dean would clap Cas on the back or smile while Cas told them of his latest deed – his brother was proud of his partner's good works.

Evenings – or days, depending on what sort of hunt they were on, and whether the Winchesters were working days or nights at the time – Cas would fly in, heal anything that needed healing, and join them for dinner (he still didn't eat) and a catch-up on the day's events. He and Dean weren't overly demonstrative so nothing much seemed changed there. Dean might rest his arm on Cas's chair a bit more often than he used to but, apart from an occasional, barely even noticeable, casual little touch or two, that was about it.

Of course, there were the smoldering, lingering looks – but they'd been doing _that_ for years. No revelations there.

Not even their accommodation requirements changed very much. Sure, Dean might insist on separate rooms a few times a month, but most nights found the Winchesters plus one in their usual two-bed room.

Cas and Dean had sex, Sam knew that, even if he tried not to think too hard about the details. In fact, he was pretty sure that Cas and Dean had a whole lot of sex. But, outside of the Separate Rooms Nights, he didn't know when or where they got up to it all. He figured that was probably one of the (many) things Dean appreciated so much about having a partner with super powers – Cas could zap them anywhere, anytime, for a little privacy.

Cas spent most nights with Dean, even though the angel didn't sleep. Sam had been a little apprehensive about that at first. Last thing he wanted was to be subjected to Dean and Cas in "honeymoon mode", screwing like rabbits just two feet away from him. But apparently he needn't have worried. They slept (or whatever it was that Cas did all night) in the same bed, but that seemed to be it.

It didn't escape Sam's notice that Dean really hadn't ever slept so well.

 

Strange thing about those twice- or thrice-monthly insistences on separate rooms… Sam came to realize, after the first few months, that Dean'd make the demand after having been around attractive women for a sustained period. Like, if a particular job threw them into the path of a hot damsel in distress or another had them working closely with a smokin' female coroner or what-have-you. It struck Sam as curious when he first noticed it, but then it dawned on him and it was perhaps the biggest revelation of Sam's late Fall – Dean was being monogamous.

 

One night, about three weeks out from Christmas, Sam awoke in the middle of the night to noises from the other bed. Great, he'd thought. It was exactly what he'd been expecting and dreading from the start of the new arrangement. But, as he lay there on his side, listening to the night-amplified sounds that were coming from a few feet behind him, he realized it wasn't sex he was hearing. It was just kissing. Long, drawn out minutes of slow kissing, punctuated occasionally by whispers so soft that he couldn't make any words out. While it was a relief not to be listening in on his brother screwing an angel, it was almost worse – it was just that fucking _intimate_.

Barely into the start of Winter and Sam already had his biggest revelation of the season. Dean and Cas were actually in fucking love.

 

A few days after New Year's, Castiel healed Dean of a gunshot wound to the left calf while Dean necked a bottle of truck-stop whiskey.

"Perhaps, Dean, we should set a time limit to discuss re-negotiations of this arrangement."

Dean's response to the angel's announcement was a predictable, "Huh?"

"When you're thirty-five, maybe?" Cas suggested. "We can discuss again at that time if this… lifestyle is still suitable."

Sam stopped pretending to be interested in his laptop and sat back in his chair across the room, interested to hear what his brother had to say about the prospect of giving up hunting.

"Oh, hell the fuck _no_!" Dean spluttered in response. "That only gives me less than two years hunting! Hunting without a freakin' Apocalypse hanging over my head! Uh-uh. Forty. At least!"

"Thirty-six," Castiel haggled.

"Thirty-nine."

"Thirty-seven. And that's my final offer."

"Thirty-eight!"

"Thirty-seven."

"Thirty-seven-and-a-half!"

"Thirty-seven."

"Fine." Dean slumped in his seat, practically pouting. "Thirty-fuckin'-seven."

The new year had barely even started and Sam had a new revelation. Dean put Cas before hunting. (At least a little bit.)

 

In a police station in suburban Missouri, Dean asked the pretty duty officer if he knew her from somewhere. Sam couldn't decide which was more surprising – the fact that it looked like Dean was flirting again or the fact that his question actually sounded genuine. The duty officer had leveled a no-nonsense look at Dean then smiled when she obviously came to the same conclusion Sam had regarding the sincerity of the query.

"I'm sure I'd remember if I'd met you before," she told him, with obvious appreciation.

Dean smiled that boyish smile he got when he was genuinely flattered. "I'm sure I know you though," he pressed. "Just can't place where from." He motioned vaguely toward her name tag. "What's the R stand for?"

"Risa."

And the color drained right out of Dean's face like turning a TV's saturation control way down.

"Sorry," Dean mumbled as he headed for the door swiftly. "My mistake."

Dean booked a second room that night and Sam could hear the noise from two rooms away.

 

It was snowing on Dean's birthday in Shell Lake, Wisconsin. The three of them went out drinking and on the stagger back, Dean demonstrated for Cas the concept of a snow angel. Cas had laughed – honest-to-god _laughed_ – so hard and so infectiously that Sam's sides hurt and he had to walk away to gasp for breath and collect himself.

 

Bobby got pneumonia in February while Cas was away in Belarus, doing something angelic. When Dean and Sam got worried enough they called him. Cas healed Bobby in a nanosecond, then spent the next thirty-odd minutes railing on the brothers for not calling him sooner; didn't they realize how serious a condition pneumonia could be? Especially for older humans? Didn't they realize Bobby could have died if they'd left things any later? It was a revelation that Sam supposed really should have occurred to him months earlier – Cas considered them all family and he got scared for them.

 

In April, Sam hooked up with one of those hot damsels in distress he no longer had to compete with Dean for, but the date ended abruptly with a family emergency and Sam drifted back to the motel earlier than expected. It was his own fault what he saw for a split second when he opened the door. Truly, it was. He'd told Dean he'd be out for the evening – hopefully the whole night – and he hadn't thought to call ahead that he was on his way home already.

On that night, _Sam_ appreciated the fact that Dean had a partner with super powers. For no sooner had Sam clattered into the room and saw what he saw, than Cas zapped himself and Dean into, apparently, the empty room next door. Sam grabbed himself a beer and turned the volume up on the TV, trying to ignore the noises coming through the wall and trying his best not to think things like "I didn't know Dean was that flexible".

 

When a year rolled around, Dean and Cas spent a couple of days at Niagara Falls again. Only, this time Cas popped them across the border and they stayed on the Canadian side for their… word-beginning-with-A-that-no-one-was-allowed-to-say-around-Dean-in-reference-to-the-passage-of-a-period-of-twelve-months _thing_. When they got back, Dean told Sam the Falls were WAY more awesome from that side of the creek.

"So…" Sam ventured, not really knowing exactly what it was he was wanting to say.

"So…?" Dean prompted him.

"So… you and Cas."

Dean crossed his arms defensively. "What about it, Sam?"

"It seems, um, good."

"Good?" Dean quirked an eyebrow at him. "Aw hell, you're not tryin' to have a _moment_ here, are you?"

Sam grinned. After all these years, there was something vaguely comforting about Dean's predictable responses. "I just think it's cool, is all." He shrugged a little. "I mean, it's not the relationship I ever might've thought would be right for you but, y'know… it seems like it is. It's good, Dean. I'm happy for you."

"Dork." Dean was smiling though, even though he was kinda trying to hide it. "Hey, I got ya something." He dug into his bag and pulled out a green t-shirt that he flung at Sam.

Sam caught it and shook it out. It had a picture of a moose on it. The moose was wearing a Mountie's hat and had a speech bubble saying "Eh?". He looked at his brother over the top of it. "Moose, Dean? Really?"

Dean cracked open a beer, smirking. "Don't blame me, man. Cas chose it for you."

"He's developing a sense of humor, I guess."

Dean's smirk seemed to fall a little but he quickly smoothed it over. "Nah. He just thought the color would do something girly for your eyes. Be grateful it's not a beaver on there."

"Ah, yeah," Sam chuckled. "My brother-in-law buying me beaver would be a _little_ weird…"

Dean spluttered and coughed into his beer, wiped a hand over his mouth and, most bizarrely, didn't say a damned thing about what had just tumbled from Sam's mouth.

Castiel and Dean had been together for a year and Sam had his biggest revelation of all – it worked, and Sam liked it.

  



End file.
